


The Measure of a Man

by gwyneth rhys (gwyneth)



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternative Season 7, England (Country), Forgiveness, Multi, Novel, Overcoming Issues, Past Relationship(s), Repairing Relationships, Souls, Witchcraft, Work In Progress, altered state, becoming human, fighting evil, making amends, vampires with souls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2003-05-28
Updated: 2005-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 18:27:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 61,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwyneth/pseuds/gwyneth%20rhys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike's attempt to gain a soul goes awry, and his adventures and misadventures trying to change back turn his life upside down and take him all over the place, to familiar and unfamiliar faces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mistakes Were Made

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry that this is an unfinished work in progress. After my sister died, I found it difficult to write much at all, and a lot of my feeling for the fandom kind of evaporated. I do honestly hope that someday I can rekindle the flame and finish this, but that's where it stands. Those of you who've been willing to read it as is have my undying appreciation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My amazing cover art is by the lovely and supremely talented X.

 

 

Fix me now I wish you would  
Bring me back to life

 

* * *

 

_Waking. Sunlight piercing retina, white-hot needle. Sand crusted on lips, adhered to saliva, grinding into the skin. Enveloped in voices, melodious language. Heat settles like the weight of water, crushing, melting. When the eye opens it sees feet dancing walking all around kicking up dust, it sees the grit below it, pressed into the soft membrane. It sees morning, it sees evening. This is daylight. He tries his sticky mouth, spits dirt out, makes an attempt at raising his head from the ground. Face imprint on the soft earth, sweat soaked under his body forming mud the shape of a man._

_His heart is beating_.

***

Spike looked at the address written on the paper scrap again, then at the house numbers in front of him, triple-checking. He was certain he must have it wrong; after all, this street was just over from the Circus, and how could anyone with Rupert's dodgy history afford anything here? But the numbers matched, so he knocked on the door and waited. He stuck his arm out towards the gash of sun, twisted this way and that, back and forth, tricking the light.

The door opened and Giles's inquisitive look instantly turned to sour disapproval. "What the bloody hell are _you_ doing here?" The geezer was looking a little less fit, a little bit older, but it was comforting to see a familiar face.

"Good morning to you, too, mate." Spike tried to affect an air of casual disinterest, but his chest tightened with the pressure of knowing this might be his one shot, evaporating in front of him.

"I have nothing to say to you. Go away."

Spike stuck his foot in the door as it closed hard. That hurt. "Look," he gasped, "I've spent a lot of time and dosh trying to find you, and I'm not going away that easily. I need your help, and I'm just asking you to hear me out, all right?"

Giles just pushed harder on the door, then stopped abruptly, staring at Spike. "Wait. . . what are you doing out there in broad daylight?"

Grimacing, Spike looked past him at the cars with their chrome and high-polish finishes gleaming in the sunlight, then turned to Giles. "Well, that's the thing, Rupes old chap. Maybe you could see your way to letting a fella in and we can discuss it?"

That met only a suspicious look from Giles. "If you're not a vampire, you wouldn't need an invitation. . . but you're standing in daylight."

"Well, any normal person would need to be _let in_ , wouldn't they, regardless of whether or not they were a vampire?"

Giles hmphed a little, but had to concede that Spike had a point. It didn't make any sense at all that he was standing just barely out of the light, and there wasn't a coat or rug anywhere in sight. This was deeply suspicious, and yet somehow. . . intriguing. He silently cursed the fact that events with Spike were always terrible and morbidly fascinating, in the manner of gazing at the gruesome aftermath of a motor wreck.

"Give me one good reason I should do anything to help you."

Spike worked his jaw a little and stared down at his feet before glancing up helplessly. He looked really quite. . . broken to Giles. There was something else he couldn't put his finger on, but something unspoken underneath the obvious pain.

"Can't, can I? Haven't got a single reason, let alone a good one. But if I want to bloody repent and atone, I'm gonna need some help. That's about all I have to offer."

Slowly, Giles opened the door and stepped back to let him in. "I'm sure I'll regret this."

"Probably," Spike answered, stepping inside. It was a lovely flat, airy and bright, situated on a street of terraced Georgian houses. Furnished in a total Ikea classic style, but still homey, and Spike raised his eyebrow. "This must cost a packet. How's a bloke who's not technically working anymore afford digs like these?"

Giles rubbed the bridge of his nose. "And now you see why I didn't want to help. Already I'm regretting it."

"Sorry." He sat down on the sofa. "Where's Willow? I'd heard she was here with you. That's partly why I came."

Giles leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. "She's with the coven through the weekend. I expect her back tomorrow afternoon."

Spike nodded, even though he had no idea what Giles was talking about, and then didn't say anymore. Giles wouldn't understand what it felt like right now, to be overwhelmed by the sensory inputs and to have so many feelings boomeranging around inside his head that he could hardly focus on anything. It would be impossible to explain, even if he had his emotions under control, which he most assuredly did not.

Ever since he'd come back to The Smoke he'd been consumed by the past, it reared up in front of him every step he took like some kind of ugly and terrifying demon. And now that he'd thrown in a bit of Sunnydale history to the mix of agonizing memory, it was like rubbing salt in the still-fresh wounds. He wasn't so certain anymore that seeing Giles or asking the witch for help was the right thing to do. Drowning himself or jumping off a bridge might fit in better with his general sense of ennui and depression.

Giles studied him as he sat, and after waiting what he felt was a polite amount of time for an answer as to why Spike was here, hrm-hrmed loudly. "So, are you going to sit there staring dazedly out the window, or are you going to tell me why you've darkened my doorstep yet again?"

Glancing back towards him, Spike looked as if he'd been hit, sort of glazed and bewildered.

"Oh, yeah, well. As you can see, I'm no longer the evil undead. And I'd like to fix that, actually. The undead part, at least, not the evil part. I was hoping Red could, you know," he moved his hand around as though he were waving a wand, "Harry Potter me back, with modifications."

"I know better than to ask, but. . . what precisely happened to you?" His manners left him when Spike was around, and though he felt a minor compulsion to offer tea or a good stiff whiskey, Giles couldn't quite bring himself to make the effort.

Rubbing his eyes, Spike let out a huge, wracking sigh, and said quietly, "Mistakes were made."

For a moment Giles was seized with a blind panic that Spike might cry, he seemed so torn up about whatever it was that had happened. Rather than provoke any further emotional outbursts, he sat quietly, waiting. Finally Spike decided to talk, and took his hands from in front of his face, blue eyes burning with what Giles could only think of as regret and anger.

"Went to see this demon about getting back my soul. I'd heard rumors, stories, for years. When Buffy and I. . . when I. . . hurt her, I knew it was time to change things, remove the possibility that I could do that to her again. Before you say anything, it was on impulse, so no," he put up a warning hand, "I didn't think it through clear. Did everything so fast I even took the chance of flying. Only something I didn't reckon on -- he didn't just take your word for what you wanted. If you endured the trials that were set, he apparently gives you what _he_ thinks you want, not just what _you_ say you want."

"And you wanted to be human again? If so, why are you trying to change that?"

"I didn't. I don't. I just wanted to be. . . the kind of man who would never hurt someone he loved. The kind of man who would never try to . . . to take someone by force. One who'd be what Buffy deserved." Spike was looking at him with such earnestness it was impossible to believe this was the same being who'd tried for years to kill them all, and who had tormented them endlessly when he couldn't succeed in the killing. He seemed almost boyish, though older and worn down, but still so ingenuous and eager that it would be farcical if you didn't know him so well.

"The kind of _man_ ," Giles said quietly.

"Yeah." Spike had wished a hundred times that he hadn't thought in just those terms. Possibly if he'd taken half a moment to actually think it through, he could have found a little verbal loophole before it was too late.

"Why didn't you. . . where was the demon after this?"

"Woke up face-down in the dirt in the middle of the village. There's these tribesmen who seem to be protectors of this demon. Had no idea where or what I was at first. It was worse than being totally mashed and finding yourself tits up in an alley. When I woke up in the light, I realized what I was and tried to get back to the cave, but they wouldn't let me. And I no longer had the strength to fight them off. Apparently I almost killed the sodding thing, though I don't remember that, and they were a might testy about it. Which, as you can gather, didn't help."

"Surprise, surprise." Giles sighed heavily, and Spike just sagged further into the sofa, knowing it was the first of the judgments that would be passed down on him, assuming he could even get Giles to let him stay long enough to talk to Willow. It was hard to blame him, though, after everything that had happened over the past few years. "Look, Spike. I don't know what to tell you about this human thing. Even though I probably shouldn't tell you this, what happened with you and Buffy. . . well, she doesn't look at it quite as badly as you might suppose."

Of course Spike had assumed Buffy would tell everyone what happened at the end, and there would be a bounty out on his head if he made the mistake of returning to SunnyD, but Spike didn't totally get where Giles was going with this line. Was he simply talking about the affair? "Don't know what you mean."

Giles sighed. "Buffy. . . look, I don't know what happened with you two in detail and I most assuredly don't _want_ to know, but when she talked about what happened with you two, your... misunderstanding before you left, she wasn't that upset."

This was rather a gobsmacking revelation, and he searched for words, but couldn't quite dig them up from the dim recesses of his brain. "She doesn't. . . the R word didn't come up?"

"No, she doesn't think that. From everything she described, you're not on top of her list, but she's not blaming you completely. The way she described it to me, your rather twisted liaisons went a step too far."

Spike sat quietly for a while, staring out the window. After feeling all this time like he'd been tied to the whipping post, he should feel as if he'd been suddenly freed, only he didn't know what to do with it. Describing it as a twisted romance gone awry was so erroneous it was almost laughable. The girl never ceased to surprise him. But Giles didn't leave him to think on it for much longer.

"What I don't believe I understand, though, is why you wouldn't want to be human. I should think you'd welcome it if you wanted to atone."

"The soul seemed to be enough for Buffy before and she seems to need more than the average bloke -- I wanted what would make me good enough to earn her love. That was _all_ I wanted."

"But why?" Giles demanded, voice rising in frustration. "Why not stay human if that's what's been given you? Why on earth would you choose to be a demon again?"

Spike bit his lower lip and stared at his hands, which now seemed too fragile and old to him. His skin looked sallow and now that he could see himself in a mirror, he didn't like the ragged face that peered back at him, bloodshot eyes and dark circles framing them. "Because what on earth do I have to offer anyone, least of all the slayer, as a puny little human with no strength, no special powers, no nothing? I'm worse than useless this way, and if I haven't anything to offer her that helps in her work, she wouldn't throw a crumb my way, even to let me apologize to her."

Giles stood up and walked over to the window, gazing out on the street. Spike crossed his arms over his chest, huddling into himself, trying to keep his emotions together. It wasn't that he wanted to come over all weepy about his unlife gone by, but talking about it, putting a name to his fears for the first time, was overwhelming.

"Do you know what happened back in Sunnydale after you left?" Giles asked, still with his back to Spike.

"Yeah, a bit. I mean, I know why Willow's here."

"Who told you?"

"Called Clem." When Giles turned to him, frowning, Spike added, "Demon friend of mine. Mostly harmless, knows the Scoobies."

"You have friends?" Giles asked archly, then rubbed his eyes under his glasses. "Obviously you don't know the whole story, or you wouldn't be asking such things of me or of Willow. She killed a man, Spike. Flayed him alive. Tried to kill Buffy, Dawn, me, and everyone else. At one point she was on her way to ending the world. All because Tara was killed when Warren attacked Buffy and she was drunk with power. Her desire for revenge grew out of that power. You remember Warren, I assume, since he built your robot Buffy?" Giles was angry now, Spike could see that even though he kept his stiff-upper-lip English demeanor and to the uninitiated appeared calm. There was a fire in his eyes that Spike had seen only once before, when Giles had shoved him out of the Magic Box after Dru had returned. "Did you know that Warren shot Buffy and she almost died?"

His stomach was knotted up and his chest ached from holding his breath. Christ, that was far, far worse than anything Clem had told him. The git had made it sound like a girlfriend's tiff and he'd been charged with babysitting Dawn because Buffy had work to do that was just a little more intense than usual. When he got back to Sunnydale, he'd have to have a little chat with Clem about truth in advertising.

"I knew Red was in trouble. Knew there'd been a fight and Buffy had some big task to handle. But no, I didn't realize it had gone that far. You make it sound like it was my fault, all this with Warren." Jesus. The idea that he'd do anything to harm Buffy... well, no, that didn't wash anymore, did it?

Giles took his glasses off, staring at him. Then he seemed to soften a little, as if the memory stirred something inside. "No, of course not. But you did serve to bring him more prominently into our lives by having him make the... that creation of your pathetic obsession. Even you must realize that."

"If I'd thought for one minute he was capable of anything more than his geeky attempts at getting laid and ruling his sad little cellar kingdom, trust me, I'd never have gone anywhere near the loser. But I had nothing to do with the shooting, and if I'd thought he could do something like that, I'd have snapped his neck a long time ago -- chip or no chip." Giles couldn't have the least understanding of the desolation he felt right now knowing that Buffy had been hurt, that the woman he'd gone to prove himself for had nearly been killed and he was helpless to do anything about it. Before he'd have roared in rage.

"And what about that? Your chip? I suppose that's no longer viable."

"Doubt it. Nothing happened when I got into that row with the tribe. And no, I don't know if it'd function were I to get my wish and become the living dead again, but I'm betting no right now. Whatever that demon was, he was efficient, the bastard." Spike stared blankly at him for a while. "I suppose everyone thinks the chip wasn't working or I couldn't have tried to hurt Buffy. But just for the record: it did still work on everyone except her. Something came out wrong when she was brought back." He got quiet again. "Sometimes I wish that had never happened, you know? That she'd have just been left in peace, no matter how wrecked we all were about it. Then maybe all this... Jesus. I can't believe the witch tried to do that. I always sort of liked her. That she'd try to hurt the Niblet and her own best friend...You're not the type to lie, but I wish to hell you were right now."

"Yes, well. I'll tell you the rest of the story later. Right now I need to think a bit about everything. Have you ever been to Bath before?"

Spike raised his eyebrows. "Uh, no. It had gone a bit out of fashion during my time. My first human time, that is."

"Well, perhaps you could go exploring for a bit and let me think."

"Kicking a poor ex-vampire out on the street, eh?" Spike stood up and put his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. "Didn't buy a return ticket. Wasn't sure if you'd help, but I suppose it was wishful thinking. I was planning to take the last train back to London if not."

"Come back in a few hours. That should give you plenty of time to catch an evening train if I decide otherwise." He noticed Giles pointedly didn't ask where he was staying in London, and how long he'd been in the country. "I know I shouldn't ask this, but have you any money? For food, transport?"

"Yeah. Plenty."

"How did you get it?" Giles scowled at him.

"Well, I bloody stole it, didn't I?"

"You'd do best to rethink your attitude if you want even the slightest chance of Buffy giving you a millisecond of her time." He opened the door to show Spike out, and then added, "If you want our help, it might behoove you to try the honest human way once in a while."

"Oh, right, humans all being perfect representatives of honesty and goodness."

"You're deliberately missing my point. Now go." He shooed Spike out the door. Standing there, taking in the late summer sun, Spike was dazzled by all the harshness and light around him. Months had passed and he still couldn't quite get used to it, and every time he went somewhere new, it was as if he'd stumbled into a strange exotic land. Frightening, overwhelming, absurd. There weren't exactly guidebooks for this sort of trip, though.

He took off down the hill heading for the main part of town, figuring he might see the baths or something else historical, even though things from the past didn't much interest him. The historical always served to depress him mightily. It dredged up his own real past and his century as a vampire, and reminded him just how fleeting life was when you didn't have an eternity to arse about in. You always took it for granted that you could do whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted to. Buffy had once joked to him that even if he did really love her, she could never expect him to hang around once she lost her looks and showed her age -- that he'd ditch her for someone who'd never need Botox or Retinol. While her comment had amused him, she would never understand just how wrong she was, how impossible it would be to shake him once she let him into her life. Looks had little to do with the way he devoted himself to someone, the passion with which he threw himself into love. But he'd never been able to explain it to her, and now it was too late.

After walking a bit, he found himself at the Parade Grounds, gazing at the Avon. He wandered aimlessly along its serpentine banks listening to the birds singing and the children shrieking with joy, the laughter of mothers, the murmurs of lovers talking. This was the strangest thing about being out in the day -- a world around you that you'd lost sight of so long ago, a world where even the most prosaic of actions held a vitality that had been hidden for so long. For a moment he stopped and stared at the large angel statue looming over the grounds, but it made him shudder a little. He still didn't like those, whether he was human or non-human.

He couldn't stop his momentum, because if he hesitated, he might not continue. When he stopped blocking it out and considered his idea from different angles, Spike ended up filled with doubt, convinced he'd come up with yet another cack-handed plan that would never work. Following an obsession was easy. Which was peculiar, really. He hadn't been like that before when he was human, but now it was such a part of his character he couldn't imagine being any other way. But now he had to stay focused and obsessed with his goals, he had to keep driving, because if he couldn't be changed back... if he had to remain in this state, he couldn't see any way out save death.

It was all too much, when you really got down to it. Living with his past was simply too cruel to bear. Humans weren't designed to take such burdens of the past; there was a reason vampires lost their souls when they turned and began to live off humans. And there was a reason no vampires had ever been resoulled before, not willingly. That miasma of darkness couldn't be contained by the thin walls of human skin or borne in the weak beating of the heart.

After a listless time staring at the water as it sparkled with afternoon sun, he went in search of something to eat. He was always hungry now. Before, Spike had enjoyed human food more as a delicacy, a treat; it never replaced the need or desire for blood. Now he just wanted to eat and eat. He'd rediscovered a particular fondness for cream teas he wasn't quite willing to cop to lest anyone find out what a ponce he was at heart. On Queen street he found a nice little café and ordered tea, piling the scones with jam and clotted cream so high it all threatened to careen off the surface before he could take a bite. After polishing those and the pot of tea off, he did some window shopping -- still startled each time he saw his reflection in a window -- wishing he could consider spending the money in his pocket on new clothes, a few personal luxuries. As impetuous as he'd always been, now he knew enough to hang onto it. Although needing to save didn't stop him from hitting a few pubs on the way back up the hill to Giles's. Somehow sitting in dark corners felt right. By eavesdropping on others' conversations and focusing on the buzz around him, his mind was filled by different noise so he didn't have to listen to the agonizing din of his victims' voices calling across centuries, or the pounding of the blood in his ears.

When he knocked on the door again, Giles greeted him with an ancient worn book in his hand, not even looking up from the pages, though this time he let him in with a bit more cordiality.

"Did I stay away long enough?" Spike asked, plopping himself down on the sofa again in the same spot. "What are you looking for?"

Giles picked up another book and flipped through to a marked page. "Seeing if there was any precedent for this and what kind of guidance may be available. And as I thought, no, there isn't any."

Spike could have told him _that_ and saved him a lot of trouble. He'd heard pretty much every vampire-human interaction story there was, it was an obsession of his in the early undead phase. He knew there had been vamps who'd chosen to live with humans, but none with souls. Angel had been the first, Spike would be only the second, assuming he could ever return to that state. "Yeah, I know. Trust me, if anyone had been returned to human status? That story would be circulating everywhere as some kind of cautionary tale to make you stay in line -- and stay the bloody hell away from witches and certain types of demons."

"Like yours?" Giles asked snidely, as if he were talking to an errant schoolboy.

"Well, yeah. After Angel was cursed, you can bet any vamp who'd been around long enough to learn the ropes stayed the bloody hell away from Gypsies. For, you know, ever. It's like fairy tales -- everyone hears them, and the lessons stick because they're scary."

"I did come across some interesting histories, though, of vampires who've chosen to live as humans -- well, as much as possible. There was one man, James Bernard from Birmingham, early in the 1900s, who missed his family quite a lot but refused to turn them. It appears he found a night job and moved back in with them. Apparently stayed with them through at least two generations of children. And this one's a bit more interesting." He shoved the book in front of Spike. "Is this your demon?"

"Yeah, that's him. Doesn't show the glowy eyes, though. It was like he had an interior lava lamp or something."

"This vampire," Giles tapped the book, "one Jao de Briho, lived with his wife for quite some time until he decided to become human for her and went to visit a demon. Only it looks as if he lost his trials, where you succeeded, because he disappears from this chronicler's list after going to see the 'foul creature of ancient Africa.' There are other reports of vampires who had mixed relationships with humans, as well, though you three seem to be the only ones who've gone to such melodramatic lengths. It looks as if the Council will have to revise their stand on vampires' ability to feel love."

His sarcasm was as dry as the Sahara, and about as welcome as spending a day lost in it.

"We're so inconvenient."

"Quite."

"Look, Rupert, all this is horribly interesting, but it doesn't address what I came here for and what I'm asking about."

Giles stared at him in exasperation. He really did wonder how a creature this thick could have made such a reputation for himself when he didn't seem even remotely capable of thinking beyond the obvious. And he couldn't even begin to understand what could be wrong with Buffy that she should get involved with someone so beneath her.

"Do pay attention. I'm telling you this because the fact that there's no precedent for your situation, for Angel's, means we haven't the foggiest idea how you could be turned back into a vampire except for the regular old-fashioned way, and that would mean the loss of your brand-new soul, as well. Is that clear enough for you?"

"But Willow might. If I've learned one thing from hanging about with the Scoobies, it's that she's maybe one of the most powerful witches anyone's ever seen. And if, you know, she gets a handle on things and back into the groove, maybe she'd see her way to helping an old friend."

"Friend? Who tried to kill her at least twice?"

Spike glowered. "I fought at her side all summer last year, and I've done nothing but try to make things better for Buffy -- her best friend -- when I could, with her being so _lonely_ and all." The extra emphasis on lonely made Giles want to go over and hit him.

"Yes, well, your altruism aside, Willow is not in a state to help anyone right now."

"Don't you think that's her decision to make? If that's what she decides, then it's what she decides, but I think it's her choice. You're not the grown-up now."

He had to concede Spike's point, however grudgingly. The thing that had driven Willow further and further into power-madness was her low self-esteem. She'd fought the notion all her life that she was unimportant, and without magic she believed herself even more worthless, especially when compared to Buffy. After she'd discovered her powers, it had been increasingly difficult to manage her, and the ripening self-confidence of adulthood quickly soured into arrogance and misuse. Taking away choices or hiding decisions only she could make for herself would probably slide her back into that pattern of belief and undo all the progress they'd made this summer.

"Of course. You're right."

"Oh, I bet that hurt," Spike commented acidly.

"You have no bloody idea." Giles rubbed his forehead. "I suppose you'll be expecting to stay here tonight."

"Hadn't thought of it. Really, as far as I'd got in my head was you bellowing at me and closing the door in my face."

It was strange confronting a Spike who was so insecure and timid. Even when incapacitated by the chip, he still had certain strengths of character he relied upon, all of them abrasive and annoying, but at least forceful and confident. Giles briefly wondered if this was the way Spike had been as a human, if the entire picture he presented to everyone as a vampire had been a complete fabrication to go along with his new "life" once he'd been turned.

Good god. He was actually starting to feel sorry for Spike. To feel... friendly.

"The best I can do is make up the sofa for you; Willow has the only guest room. You can stay here until she comes back, but when she says no -- and I can guarantee you she will say no -- then I want you on your way. You'll have to find some other manner to be vamped again and keep the sodding soul."

Spike sighed theatrically. "If there's one thing I've learned about Willow, it's that she never does what others expect her to. She has things inside her I don't think any of you have ever seen or understood."

"We do now, Spike, we do now. That's what she's doing here with the coven -- learning how to control those things."

"Tell you what. Since you're mister hospitality and all, why don't I stand you a few down at your local, get something for dinner, and you can fill me in on this coven whatsits. I'm famished."

Giles eyed him suspiciously, but the offer didn't sound half bad. If Spike could behave himself in public, he wasn't the worst company you could keep... and it was always possible to mine that rich history as a demon for papers in the upcoming Watchers' Journal issues. "You're on."

 

_When he dreams now, he dreams in nearly black and white, colorless images behind a scrim tinged faintly red. But he sleeps so rarely that dreams come in short bursts, images like gunfire, staccato memories of past crimes that rap against his skull in endless ricochets. It all spirals down the drain of his mind, crimson swirls, banshee screams that circle and whirl around him like a tornado. He is the eye; the storm his history. And it is all covered in blood._

 

When Giles woke, he heard a soft thumping sound downstairs, and looked at the clock. Nearly half four in the morning. The noise was coming from the kitchen, and he threw his robe on and went down. He could just imagine Spike inviting a vampire in to re-vamp him or something else equally atrocious.

But it was obvious what the noise was. Spike was sitting at the little table in the kitchen corner, tapping the handle of the large chef's knife in his fist against the table, and then hovering the blade over his arm as if deciding where to cut. In the darkness Giles couldn't tell for certain, but it looked as if there were healing cuts along Spike's arms, across his bare chest, even along his throat. A lot of bruises, too. It would have been sickening if it weren't nearly heartbreaking, and for the only time since Spike had taken that pasting from Glory, Giles found himself feeling pity for the man.

"What are you doing, Spike?" Giles asked gently, but maintained his distance in case Spike reacted startled or angry.

There was no answer. Spike pressed the blade against the flesh of his inner elbow and held it there. It was like he was sleepwalking, awake and aware in a reality other than the one they currently shared.

"Spike. Stop it, stop it right now." Giles put his hand over Spike's and pulled on the knife, but there was no fight and he slipped it easily out of the trembling fingers. "What on earth is the matter with you? And why are you trying to kill yourself with _my_ kitchen knife?" He made a noise of disgust and threw it in the sink. In the yellow porch light coming through the tiny kitchen window, Spike looked so pale and drawn. A somnambulist.

As Spike sighed raggedly, Giles sat down opposite him. At least it didn't look like Spike had actually used the knife, thank god for small favors. But clearly he'd been making a bloody hash out of his body for some time.

"For God's sake, pull yourself together, man." But Giles didn't have any venom left in him, it was too awful to see so much pain on anyone, even Spike.

That only caused Spike to laugh bitterly, his voice crazy and high-pitched. It made Giles's skin crawl.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" He decided not to ask again about _why with his kitchen knife_ , since he could never use it on food again, anyway.

Spike tilted his head sideways and looked at him with dull eyes. That was the thing Giles hadn't been able to put his finger on before, the thing that seemed most off about Spike -- that his eyes, normally a sparking, lively deep blue, seemed dulled and lifeless now that he was human. As if the process of regaining his soul and living again took all his life force away.

Spike sought a way to answer the question that sounded comforting. Giles would like comforting, he wouldn't be able to understand the ugly reality of truth and the way pain displaced pain. Couldn't know what the weight felt like, how easy it was to be pulled into the undertow; drowning not waving.

That had always been the difference with the Scoobies. They operated in a world where things were close to black and white; Spike had seen for more than a century just how grey the world really was. Grey and covered in blood and viscera. Spike stared emptily at Giles for a few moments before looking sideways and giving him a bitter smile.

They sat in silence for a time. Giles put his hand on Spike's arm and patted it lightly. He was still bewildered by why Spike would want to be a vampire again yet keep the soul; that wouldn't make it the least bit easier to cope with his terrible history. But he was beginning to understand what drove Spike forward with this barmy plan, maybe just a little -- that at least Spike could feel he was strong enough to endure if he was a demon, could withstand the pain and the remorse better than a small and fragile human would.

There really wasn't anything he could say to Spike so he got up and made tea, putting a cup in front of his guest, and the two of them stared out the window at the darkness. Out in the neighbor's garden two moggies were yowling and spitting at each other, but the world was otherwise silent. Spike still trembled a little, but Giles didn't think it was from cold and he politely pretended not to notice.

"What were you like as a human?" Giles finally asked. "Before."

"Not like this," Spike said very slowly and quietly, "if that's what you mean. Just... silly. Stuffy. Weak." His voice was soft and dreamy, as if he was back in that world, centuries away.

"Is that what you're afraid of, then? Of being that human?"

Closing his eyes, Spike answered, "He doesn't exist anymore, not really. I wouldn't know how to be like him again. Spent over a hundred years creating someone entirely new, and I'm not _him_ , either. That's the scary part."

"Yes, I see." No wonder he was working so hard to be abrasive and difficult -- at least he knew how to relate to others that way; he knew how to react to their reactions. It would be confusing to feel empty of persona. To be a tabula rasa on which to write a new character.

"Worked very hard to get away from what I was when I was human."

"Why, exactly?" He must have been horrible if the persona Spike had image for himself was considered better.

"Victorian England. Gentleman. Mama's boy. Poet."

"Ah," Giles said, nodding his head in complete understanding. "Did you ever publish anything?"

Spike laughed bitterly. "No, never really tried, or got that far. I tried to emulate my friends, who were as bad, if not worse." He cleared his throat and put on a dramatic face.

 

> "When I am gone will any eyes  
>  Shed tears behind the hearse?  
>  Will any one survivor cry,  
>  'I could have spared a worse--  
>  We never spoke; we never met;  
>  I never heard his voice, and yet  
>  I loved him for his verse?'  
>  Such love would make the flowers wave  
>  In gladness on their poet's grave."

Then he huffed. "See? That one _was_ published, by someone I knew. Horrid, yeah? All this stuff we know today, that's the stuff that stuck because it was good. Most of the things we used to read or write, though, were just like that."

Spike was becoming more animated, less drawn in on himself, as he spoke, and it was heartening to see him regain a little strength. There was something peculiarly discomfiting about a broken Spike; it was not something you fit neatly into your worldview after five years.

They talked a little longer about bad poetry and the Victorians before Giles found himself drifting off to sleep. He said goodnight and tried encouraging Spike to go to bed, but he preferred to stay up because, as he put it, he was still operating on a creature of the night clock. Spike stared morosely at the table and muttered, "I may not be one, but I still feel like a night stalker."

"All right, but just... stay away from the kitchen knives, please? And the razor blades in the bathroom. And... well, anything sharp."

"Right," Spike answered, distracted.

In the daylight, though, there was no trace of the distraught and suicidal man he'd seen last night. Instead he was greeted by the highly unappealing sight of Spike's naked body as he strolled in from the sitting room in the early afternoon, yawning and scratching. His curly hair, now growing out the last of its bleach, was standing up all over his head, and he looked as if he'd been sleeping for a month. Cord marks from the sofa cushions crisscrossed his face.

"Oh, for god's sake!" Giles bellowed. "Would you _please_ put some clothes on."

"Just getting some coffee. Don't get those knickers twisted, for chrissake. You're acting like my aunt Mary."

"The curtains are open and I don't think my neighbors need to see you wandering about starkers. And Willow will be back soon, so at least show a little respect for her, if you won't have any for _me_."

Spike poured a mug of coffee, grabbed his clothes off the floor and was starting up the stairs to the bath, Giles fuming behind him, when the front door opened.

Willow shouted brightly, "Giles! I'm back! And I have to tell you about the trip to Cornwall and the ruins of the--aaaiiigghh!" She leapt backwards at the sight of Spike and dropped her bags in the entryway.

Giles shoved Spike hard up the stairs, coffee sloshing over the rim of the mug to spill painfully on his hand. Spike froze momentarily. Then Giles prodded him again and he stumbled up the stairs while Willow fluttered around by the door, making high-pitched whimpering noises.

Possibly that was a tactical error, Spike thought as he yanked on his jeans and shirt. Might have to start considering consequences a bit more carefully now that he was human. It didn't really do to upset the one person who held your future in her hands.


	2. New Miserable Experience

I asked of my reflection  
Tell me, what is there to do?

 

 

Willow was flapping her arms wildly and whimpering when Spike got back downstairs. Under the panicked assault of her flailing arms, Giles attempted to mollify with soothing words, but he appeared to have little luck. Spike remained on the landing while Giles steered her away from the foyer and into the lounge.

"I told him to get dressed," he muttered darkly as he finally got her on the sofa.

Shaking her head, Willow blurted, "It's not that! It's... he's... I mean I've seen naked guys before; it's not like I was always gay, you know."

"I realize it's a bit of a shock even on a good day. One doesn't exactly expect one's safe haven to be harboring naked vampires."

"No, really not the problem." She squeezed her hands into fists. "It's... it's because it's Spike."

"Well, yes..."

"No." She took a deep breath. "I mean -- it's _Spike_. Lover of the girl I tried to kill. Vampire. Evil." She hooked her fingers into claws and bared her teeth. "Grrr."

"Oh!" Giles said, and the penny dropped for Spike, as well.

He came into the room and stood in the doorway, pitching his voice as low as he could, softening his stance as much as possible. "I'm not here for revenge, if that's what's got you worried, Red."

But her fearful glance told him that she was, indeed, petrified. Her hands shook and she clutched at Giles's arm when he sat down next to her. Tears shimmered at the edges of her eyes.

"Spike didn't know... what happened... until he got here, so that wasn't why he came. I would never have let him in the flat if I'd thought he was here for revenge." He patted Willow's hand.

Spike had to hand it to the fella, he knew how to comfort the young ladies when it was needed. "Sorry about the stark-bollock naked thing," he said sheepishly. "Really wasn't expecting you here so quick. And I didn't mean to scare you."

It took some time but eventually Willow calmed down, though she kept looking at Spike's hands as if she was waiting for him to produce a weapon. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but fragile and fluttery wasn't on the list. There was a damaged quality to her that had been immediately apparent. Not cosmetic damage; deep enough so that you could tell the gears weren't working well. He'd often felt a warmth towards her and sometimes for the girlfriend even back when he didn't like anyone much at all, so it was distinctly painful, in this new skin, to glimpse the fear he inspired.

"So, if you're not here to kill me, then..."

"It's a long and stupid story," Spike answered with a grimace. "But, see--"

"It's not important right now, anyway." Giles scowled at Spike. "Maybe you could find other diversions for the time being? Let Willow settle in?"

Spike motioned for Giles to come into the hallway with him and then whispered hostilely, "If you want my arse on the next train back to London, we should just get it over with. Let the witch make up her mind."

"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm trying to do you a favor! Right now, there's no way she'd agree to help, but if you give her some time to stop worrying you're here to rip her to pieces, she might consider something. Are you that thick you don't see it?"

Spike pursed his lips and looked at the ceiling. "Yeah, all right. You got me there."

"Can't you just hang about _quietly_?"

He'd forgotten how librarianish Giles could be. "I'll just make some brekky, why don't I?"

"It's three in the afternoon, you lazy sod."

"Different schedule, I told you. Lots to adjust for."

"It's been how many months?"

"Oh, pack it in. Go attend to your guest and let me get out of her hair." Spike walked away, waving his fingers dismissively.

When Giles returned to Willow, she was sitting on the sofa, staring at her hands. He sat down. "I apologize again. He seems to make me do the exact wrong thing, you know? Even if it's against my better judgment, and even after all these years, I let him goad me into things."

"We need cell phones. Or mobiles, I mean. We never have the chance to give each other the heads-up. Make technology work for _us_."

Giles rubbed his eyes and looked at her. She was still upset, except it obviously wasn't about Spike anymore. "But it's not really him, is it?" he asked in his gentlest voice.

She hitched in a deep breath, still on the verge of tears. "He reminded me, that's all. Um. The last few days he was around, some seriously bad things happened. And it's hard not to connect him to Buffy now. Or to everything that happened after he left. It's like I take a couple baby steps towards getting better, and then a huge step backwards over the tiniest little thing." She wiped her hand across her face and looked helplessly at him. "If he wanted to kill me for hurting Buffy, I couldn't blame him."

"That's nonsense. Everything we've taught you since you came here should tell you different."

Her shoulders moved up and down with her huge, racking sigh. "I want to believe in what you guys are saying, but it's like... no go there when I'm confronted with what I did. I know what you're telling me, I wish I could believe it, but... stuff like this just reminds me how far away that is."

"It will get better with time, I can assure you."

"You've been saying that and it's not. Or, well, it's a little better, but not enough." Sometimes Willow had such an overpowering need to quit that it felt nearly suicidal. To lie down and sleep forever would be the best medicine she could take. Giles and the coven were so kind to her, and they had such a positive outlook, that they couldn't know how hard it was to tamp down this black rage, to maintain control so tightly that the smallest increase in tension would snap the restraints.

In some respects Willow felt more connected to Spike, just in the few minutes she'd seen him now. He was always so... obvious. All the lines were straight and you knew what you were looking at. In a way, she almost wished that he _was_ here to avenge her treatment of Dawn and Buffy. If people would just punish her, that would be freeing. With punishment, you just took your whupping and moved on, knowing that like was met with like. But this kindness and understanding, this gentle guidance, freaked her out.

"Why don't you take your stuff upstairs and come down when you're ready. If you want, I'll get rid of Spike right now."

"No! No, I mean... he... I'd like to talk to him. Has he been back home?"

"Not yet. There's some things to tell you about, but they can wait."

"He seems different. I don't know why, but something's..." There was a quality she sensed in him, not unlike her own -- delicate, fearful. Something she'd never seen in his eyes before. And it wasn't nameable, but an intangible link that made her want to reach out to him. Not a feeling she'd ever associated with Spike before.

"Perhaps a nap or a bath might make you feel rested."

"Giles, I don't need rest! It's like a ninety-minute coach trip from there! You lived in California long enough, you know we'd drive that distance for food." She sat up straighter and put on her stern face. "You need to tell me what's up or I'll die of curiosity. And how would that look? 'Recuperating witch dies at mystic's Bath flat. Film at eleven.' "

Giles exhaled loudly and rolled his eyes. "He's human. Spike is human again. The full kit -- soul, conscience, everything."

Okay, she hadn't been expecting anything quite _that_ dramatic. Willow stared at him, open-mouthed. Eventually she found her voice and squeaked, "What? How? Why?"

Giles raised his eyebrows. "It is, as he said, a long and stupid story. And one I think might be best heard from him, if you're willing. It's really you he came here to see, not me."

"Oh." Willow pondered that for a moment and repeated, "Oh. Well, I guess... I guess if he's human, he can't really hurt me. Or, like, maybe he could, but in a regular way, and so we're more evenly matched. Mano a mano." She made little kung-fu hand motions.

"If you want, I'll stay with you. In case of the mano thing." He smiled, something that always lifted her spirits.

"No, let me put my junk upstairs and I'll go talk to him." She didn't feel very courageous right now, but sometimes it was best to follow the ads' advice and just do it. For the first time in a long while it was like being back in high school, feeling timid and nervous and always looking behind her to see if anything threatening lurked there. But maybe... maybe there was a reason that Spike was here, maybe all this was supposed to happen as part of the interconnectedness the coven was teaching her about. Maybe Spike in her life again at just this time was meant to be. She picked up her bags and went up the stairs.

 

 

Spike was downing the last of the bacon when Willow walked into the kitchen and stood near the fridge, arms crossed over her chest. He'd never thought of her as tiny before, but realized now that she was barely larger than Buffy. The hair had grown longer, and she was thinner now than he could ever remember seeing her, but she still had the huge eyes and the cute little mouth.

"Hey," was all she said.

"Hey." He watched her tentatively, trying to discern if the hard set of her mouth was an indication of mood, and just what he should say in response to that mood. Usually he could read her well, but he wasn't certain if it was radio interference from the being human, or just that she'd changed so much, now he couldn't gauge her disposition.

"So. Big news."

"Yeah. Pretty big." He motioned to the other chair, but she made no effort to sit down. "He tell you everything?"

"There's more than just being human?" Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline.

"Oh, yeah. Lots more."

"Giles said you came to see me."

He got up to clean off his plate. Suddenly he felt afraid to ask for what he wanted, overcome with worry that she would panic and turn him into a frog or something. "I did. I wanted... I don't want to be human."

"'Cause it's better being a dead guy?" she asked sarcastically, voice rising.

"Well, in my case, yes. Thought you might be able to reverse it. You being so powerful and all. But... I didn't know when I came here what had happened after I left. What you've gone through." He put the dishes in the sink and turned to face her, but kept his eyes on the floor. "I still want that, but it's more complicated now."

"Oh." Her voice was small and quiet. A flashing glimpse of the mousy Willow he remembered from early days. "How come... how come you'd go get human and then not want it?"

"Uh, it was a mistake. A misrepresentation of services, if you will. See, there was this demon..." He scratched his fingers through his hair and then looked up at her. "Look, how 'bout I tell you the tale and we bask in summer out in the garden? It's a nice day, and look, ma, no flames." He held his hand in a shaft of sunlight coming through the window.

She glanced suspiciously at him, but shrugged her shoulders in a _why not_ kind of way.

"Besides," he said through gritted teeth, "the watcher's crap hippie music is killing me. I hate the fucking Grateful Dead. Why can't he at least listen to the Doors? If I was in the nick I'd confess to any crime rather than listen to that shit."

"The window's open, though," Willow pointed out, grimacing. "Summer and all."

"Bugger. Well, let's soldier on."

Once they'd parked themselves under the shade of a tree, Spike told her the whole sordid story. Willow listened in silence, sipping from her bottled water, face impassive.

When he finished, she stared at him, scrutinizing his features. "Boy, and I thought I was fucked." But she was smiling.

"Never heard you use _that_ kind of language before."

"I've changed."

"No joke."

"And so, you wanted me to _poof_! you back?" She waved her hands.

"Well, with minor adjustments. Like the soul. Keep that, the rest can go."

"Because, what? Buffy's so hung up on a soul? That's gonna make it all right? She does that for a reason, you know. What's going on with you and her is a lot more than just about stuff with souls and things. She draws a line, but... you know. If you had to kill things with souls, it'd get a lot more complicated. That's why... why... she tried so hard to not kill me, even... when she should have. When I wanted her to." Her mood had instantly shifted from amusement to despair, and her lower lip trembled. Spike reached over and patted her arm.

That was all it took and she began sobbing uncontrollably, streams of tears glimmering down her cheeks. Spike had no idea what to do or how to react; he'd only ever known how to comfort Dru when she lost control. He put his arm around her shoulder and whispered, "It's all right, it's all right."

Willow cried it out all over his shirt, his arms around her and his low voice comfortingly droney. Even if he wasn't a vampire anymore, he still felt strong and powerful to her, and she let him carry the weight of it for just a little while -- though he wasn't really any more capable than she was. Sometimes he rocked her a little, until gradually she couldn't feel any more sobs coming from down in her diaphragm and the tears had dried up. But he didn't take his arms away. The last time he'd had his hands on her, he was trying to kill her.

"All cried out now?" he asked, and she nodded against his neck.

"I miss her so much. I miss who I was so much."

"Buffy?"

"No. Tara. Me with Tara."

"Oh. I liked her, you know. Much as I liked anyone then, and that wasn't usually a lot."

"That was my girl. People just liked her."

He stroked her hair, curling it behind her ear. "People liked you, you know. I did. You think they won't forgive you, don't you, because you can't forgive yourself. But they will."

Willow pulled away and stared hard at him. "I see by taking away your special vampire powers they didn't take away that freakish ability to nail what someone's thinking. That is _so_ creepy."

He laughed, the first time she'd ever heard him laugh. "It's not special. Just watch and listen. The thing is, see... they can forgive you because they've always loved you. No one ever could stand me, even when they tolerated me. So I haven't got a snowball's chance, you know. You can make a lot of mistakes, and their love will let you -- even though it doesn't look like it now. Me... well, I am, as you say, fucked."

She could feel the urge to cry bubbling up again. "What are we going to do, Spike?" she whispered, and he pulled her to his shoulder again.

"Don't look to me for answers. I'm a witless prat. Obviously, or I wouldn't be here."

"But, I mean... How do we live with what we've done?"

He thought for a moment about what he could say that wouldn't undo everything she'd learnt here with Giles. Nothing came to him. Instead he took his arm from around her shoulders and rolled up a sleeve, showing her the map of cuts. She sucked in a deep breath. "We don't, really." His voice was so soft it was almost a whisper.

"Poor us," she said tenderly. Her eyes were so big and so frightened.

"The walking wounded." He leaned his cheek against her sweet, fruit-scented hair. "We'll come up with a secret handshake later."

Upstairs in his study, Giles looked out over the garden, tea in hand. The two of them were holding each other, and it looked as if Willow was crying. Strangely, he felt no alarm, no need to rush down and remove her from his influence.

Whatever it was that Willow needed, it was mirrored in Spike's face now. All the little things Giles hadn't been able to give her or fully understand, Spike might. And just maybe, when she had healed and learned, she could help _him_. Not because she was powerful enough to change him, but simply because she wanted to. He went back to his desk and read some more.

 

 

_When he wakes it is still dark, silent and cold in the waning hours before dawn. Stepping barefoot on the grass, he shivers as the dew ices his skin. She stands by a tree, surrounded by a deep forest of such impenetrable blackness he thinks it might go on forever. Her dress is silver in the moonlight, floating around her on the whirlwind that caresses her body. In her hand she holds a glowing orb, and she's smiling at him, a smile made wicked by the blackness of her eyes and how her red hair has gone jet._

_"What is it?" he asks._

_"Your soul," she says. "It's mine now."_

_He wonders about that, when it became Willow's instead of Buffy's. Didn't everything belong to Buffy? He could make a grab for it, or just leave it. Decisions are too hard to make these days, and they always seem to bring negative consequences. Then he notices her off in the dark woods \-- the other witch. Tara. She sends out a silvery cloud from her hands, and it swarms around Willow like fireflies, glittering in the night. A veil of stars. Everything feels comforting now; Willow relaxes and drops her hand, and the orb is gone. Tara holds a finger to her lips. "Even the devil was an angel once," she says to him, and he nods as if he understands. When he turns around, there is a long road stretching out before him, lined by shimmering linden trees. He can't see Giles's flat there at the end of it. All he can see is a figure, indistinct. It might be Buffy, so he runs. But he hits an invisible wall, locked out, unable to go far enough to find out who waits._

 

 

Spike made an extra effort to get up earlier the next day, to Giles's obvious approval; he'd also opted to sleep in most of his clothes this time, just in case Willow decided to have a midnight snack. They'd spent a pleasant night watching television, with Giles sharing his good whisky, not to mention his beer. If he wasn't careful, Spike would almost think Giles was starting to like him now that he was human.

Willow stuck close to Spike's side, often touching him in a way that was more like petting a cat. While he knew he shouldn't get attached again \-- Giles would be expecting him to leave soon enough -- he was surprised at how much he enjoyed the contact. There were vague feelings half-remembered of a dream last night, as if he and Willow were connected mentally and she'd been right inside his head, but he couldn't pull up any details. Certainly the witch had been inside his head before; it wouldn't be anything new.

Both of them puttered and chattered around the flat for the better part of the day until Giles grew increasingly agitated. For what reason, Spike didn't know, but then the geezer shoved them out the door and it didn't matter. "I have a long distance telephone call to make, and I need quiet," was all he said, as if they were merely screaming five-year-olds running maniacally around the house instead of a couple of morose adults trying to come to grips with their murderous histories.

They both stood blinking in the sunlight on the steps, wondering what had happened.

Spike turned to her. "Well, where do you wanna go? Could nick a car, go for a drive."

All he got was a mock frown. "Um... I don't know. It's weird, I mean, I've been here for a couple months now, but I've never really wandered around town or anything. We've been mostly out at the coven's estate, and I've spent most of my time in the country."

"Sounds like a convent or something." He shivered, remembering a time when the four of them, Angelus, Darla, Dru, and he, had wiped out a convent in a matter of hours. It hadn't been enough to just kill and feed; he and Angelus had raped their way through it, and Dru and Darla had done their fair share. Angelus had taken great glee in defiling as many of them inside their chapel as possible. Spike's stomach spasmed with the need to vomit; he took deep breaths to regain some control.

She laughed, though, and made it all right again. "No, it's way cooler than that. They're... they're great ladies. I've learned a lot."

Spike was staring at her in that way he had, dark eyebrows pulled together and the big crease in the middle of his forehead. Almost scowly. "You learnt all that stuff you knew on your own? You never had any guidance before?"

"Well, no... I mean. No. Giles used to chastise me. He thought I shouldn't be getting into it, and I had such a crush on him that I felt like I had to prove something. Show him how good I could be. Maybe he saw whatever's in me and all along he knew it would lead to this."

Starting off down the street, Spike said lightly, "Doubt it. He probably just reckoned you needed something like your own version of a Watcher. Might have been easier in the end. You had a crush on Rupert?" he asked incredulously, while she made a sheepish face. "Huh. Well, I guess it's not like Giles is a bad-looking bloke. He has a certain style when he tries."

That made her want to laugh. Those two would hiss and spit at each other until the apocalypse. "You were really mad yourself when I resurrected Buffy." They'd never discussed it, but she knew what he'd said -- Anya's mouth was way too big to keep that a secret.

"Yeah. I was. The thing you did wrong was not understanding that there are consequences. Or maybe you refused to believe there would be, that you were above them. That's what pissed me off. But you know that now. Magic's always got the nasty loopholes and clauses and lingering aftereffects."

"No shit. Thank you, Gandalf."

He smiled. "Hey, that's what we could do -- we could go see a movie, yeah?"

"Oh! Yeah, that would be great! Something cheesy and lame. An action movie or stupid comedy."

"What, no foreign dramas about dysfunctional families? Sweeping epics about fighting world-destroying evil?"

"Brrrrr."

"Gotta warn you, though. Brit theatres... not like Yank ones."

"That's okay. We'll have a good time. Then we could get something to eat afterwards."

Willow and Spike walked down the hill towards the center of town, each lost in thought, as if their momentum to be normal stopped whenever their mouths did.

"So, do you... do you, like, think about blood anymore? Or does it gross you out?"

"Oh! Oh, no, I don't really even think about it. Suppose I ought to test it out, see what happens. But there's no appeal, not like a nice trifle or a good pint of bitter or something."

"You know, everyone told me the food would be terrible here, but it's not! I've found all kinds of things I like, especially the scones and the clotted cream."

"Cream teas!" Spike said gleefully. "Oh yeah... I'd totally forgot them, and it's great sitting in some cozy little caff with a nice cup of milky tea and some scones."

"I like the English version of scones a lot better. And oh! Giles and I were in Cornwall, and my god, Cornish cream is like heaven on earth. You can just _hear_ your arteries clogging."

"Yeah. Those American behemoths they call scones are not the real thing. I read somewhere that scones themselves aren't what's supposed to get the attention. That the scone is merely a vehicle for butter, cream, and jam. Sounds about right to me."

"Yeah."

They were silent until they reached the theatre, where they found the earliest showing they could of the most mindless movie they could. Willow watched him occasionally, wondering what it must feel like to sit there with Buffy's best friend, thousands of miles from Sunnydale, believing his life was destroyed -- at least, the life he wanted.

He had such an unusual profile, and she'd never really thought of him as a hottie before, but judging from the way many of the young women around them had acted, she'd been missing the obvious. He shared his movie snacks with her, and she would smile at him each time she took something. Fortunately the movie wasn't worth paying attention to. All she could think about was her history with him, the entire Scooby history with him, and try to order this new being in her brain. If he knew Willow was constantly watching him, though, he never showed it, and she liked him even more for that.

They went to a pub for dinner, and Spike regaled Willow with stories of real life in the Victorian era, which she seemed to find appropriately fascinating. If she was pretending, he was indebted to her for the kindness. Afterwards they started back up the hill to Giles's. Spike was still anxiously trying to work out in his mind how he could ask about her decision regarding transmogrifying him, when he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up and his skin tingle.

He stopped. "I think... I think something's... oh, bloody hell." Coming slowly out of the darkness were two vampires. Paralyzed, he stared helplessly at Willow. They both looked around, scanning for any kind of a wooden or bladed weapon, but all Spike saw were trees along a street lined with cars. The vamp closest to Willow snarled low in his chest and sprang at her. Scared into action, Spike sprinted to the nearest tree as Willow screamed and flailed at the vampire. He wouldn't know that she was a seasoned veteran of vamp attacks, some of them Spike's own.

He grabbed a branch and yanked. Nothing happened. He threw all his force behind it. All it did was bend. He pushed it the other direction and then pulled hard. Still nothing happened. _Fucking hell_.

The other vampire was now making a run for him so he zigzagged towards Willow, who had managed to poke her fingers in her opponent's eyes, disabling him for just a moment. Spike grabbed her hand and pelted hard towards an alley, hoping that in the rubbish there would be something wooden or sharp. But Willow's vampire caught up with them, latched on to her other arm, and hauled her back. Spike stopped to look down at the ground, spying a produce crate under a pile of bags. Just as Willow screamed, Spike stomped on the crate and bent to grab a broken slat. He wasn't sure he had the strength to ram it into the vamp's chest, but it would have to do. Just as he rose and pivoted with his makeshift stake, he was hit with a blinding light and a hammer of air that knocked him off his feet. The vampire fell on top of him, and Spike limply raised the slat, driving it down on his foe's back. He staggered to his feet but didn't turn to dust, the slat fixed in the middle of his back like a lever. But when he snarled and crouched to pounce, Spike didn't notice, because he was trying to see past the vibrating wall of light.

She was standing right inside of it while the vamp beside her was engulfed in flames, shrieking and wailing. Turning towards Spike, Willow's obsidian eyes shone in the glow, exactly as they had in his dream. His feet were stuck to the ground.

In one swift motion she raised her left hand and sent a bolt of lightning at the other vamp, who also went up in flames. The crackle of energy glanced off him to hit Spike sideways. He flew into the side of the skip, dazed, not certain if the dimming of the light was him sliding into unconsciousness or Willow's Light of Death going out.

As the light faded it tore through Willow's body, leaving her shaking. She stood there for a moment, trying to regroup, feeling the power drain away down the back of her mind. Blackness closed over her. Finally she crawled back out of it and looked around for Spike.

The back of his head was bleeding when she got to him, and he lay sprawled on the cobbled street of the alley, flecks of wilted produce clinging to his jacket and jeans. But he was conscious. She extended a hand. He neglected to take it, raising himself up first on his elbows, then leaning back against the Dumpster. Willow sat down on the remains of the crate he'd broken and cried.

"Oh, now, don't start with the waterworks." Only there was no anger to his voice, just a soft resignation.

"I'm sorry, Spike. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Nah, just... stop it, all right?" She didn't know if he was more upset because of the flinging, or because he hadn't been able to save her from the vamps now that he was human.

"I... I..." and then she lost it completely. After sobbing for a while she looked at Spike, who just sat there, staring at her with glazed-over eyes. She couldn't bear to ask him what he was thinking, but asked anyway.

"My head is still playing Flight of the Bumblebee. I'll have to get back to you." He didn't know what to say to her, really. But he knew now with certainty what her answer would be about giving his vampire status back. You could tell yourself you knew what a person was capable of, but until you actually saw it... Maybe it had been the same for those people he'd known when human to confront his vampire self for the first time. How did you prepare for coming face to face with the wildness unleashed inside a safe, familiar form?

They'd both dug themselves into their own holes and now had to climb out, separate and alone. The answer had to be no, because to try to help him meant her own certain failure. He felt so sorry for her, sorrier than he felt for himself, even. Willow didn't really see what she truly was, and Giles still hadn't taught her that.

"We should probably go," she said in between hitching breaths. "People could have seen what happened and the cops might come."

"When my legs mend, we can go." He tried to stand, but they were still too rubbery. His head had the entire Seventh Cavalry riding through it at a gallop.

"Are you that badly hurt? Should I call an ambulance?'

"Dunno. Never felt like this before. Kinda... kinda reminds me of when Glory got her claws in me."

An anguished little wail came trailing out between her lips. She put her hand over her mouth. All these months of trying to control herself, and this was all it took. Spike wouldn't understand the terror Willow experienced at losing control, at killing again, even if they were just vampires. Right now, demon slaying was still too much like slaying of _any_ kind, and slaying rhymed with flaying... and that was a whole thing she couldn't deal with. Giles would be so disappointed in her. What if she never did get better? What if they could never help her with it, and they had to lock her in some kind of protective cell, like Magneto?

"I don't have the words to say how sorry I am. I just... I was afraid and neither of us is strong enough to take on two big vamps and this isn't Sunnydale. Please, please forgive me, Spike." The corners of her mouth pulled down, and more tears swam at the edges of her eyes.

"I had no idea. I mean, I've seen you put the whammy on people; hell, I've had you put the whammy on me. Watched you take on Glory. But what Giles said... didn't really mean anything. Didn't get it."

"This is everything I'm afraid of. What if the coven can't help me? What if I do it again?"

Spike's hand snapped out and he grabbed her wrist hard. "What if. You could spend your life with the what ifs. That's what's wrong with you now."

She made no move to take her arm away, but she was afraid of him. There was a light in his eyes that was dangerous, like old Spike. Like a vampire. "What do you -- what do you mean?"

"Red. Listen to me. This isn't new. It's always been there. A person gets turned, the demon doesn't replace what was in them, it just takes over. The good gets pushed out by the evil, and the evil doesn't just materialize out of thin air. The demon is part of what we all have inside us. It was _always there_."

She thought suddenly of herself as a vampire, of how frightening it was to see that part of herself unleashed. And how malevolently fascinating it had been. "What are you saying? That I was always going to be evil?"

"Are you being deliberately thick?" He ran his hand over hers, clamped it hard. "I'm saying both things exist in you, good and bad, always have. Stop trying to pretend the bad doesn't exist. It'll kill you. You can't _control_ it till you admit it's _there_."

She stared at him for a long time, until the edge of the crate poking into her ass motivated her to stand up. Holding on to his hand, Willow yanked Spike up from the ground and brushed the lettuce bits off. But she didn't let go of his hand.

 

 

When Giles heard them downstairs, he went to the kitchen and snapped, "What is this? A transport caff? You're going to eat me out of house and home."

"We were hungry," Willow said around a mouthful of sausage roll.

"Spike has been hungry since he got here, it seems. I'm going to have to go shopping now, and I haven't time for this, I really haven't."

"And how long did your phone call take?" Spike asked disingenuously.

Giles really hated the way Spike was able to conjure up such an angelic face at times. "It... there were things to do... I think I have a right to some private time, don't you? This isn't the bloody Plaza."

"Course. That's why we're down here eating, so we won't bother you. We've been gone for hours, though, you know."

Giles rolled his eyes. Then he noticed that Spike was covered in flecks of what looked like... produce. "What the hell happened to _you_?"

Willow's mouth twisted in a grimace, and her eyes went huge. "We were attacked. By vampires. Which, you know, seems really wrong here in Bath, if you ask me. This just doesn't seem like a vampire town."

"Any town is a vampire town," Giles said. He sat down opposite Spike and took the last piece of the very expensive Stilton wheel that Spike had demolished in his three days here. Spike mock-scowled at him. "How did you come to be covered in refuse?"

"Uh. Well." Spike looked to Willow, who just stared down at the table. "Our girl had a bit of a setback, in a way, but she saved my arse, so there's mitigating factors."

Willow finally gathered enough strength to look at Giles. "I killed them. It just came out of me -- light and fire. I didn't even... I couldn't stop it."

"You were trying to protect yourself," Giles said quietly.

That eased her worries, just a little, that he would be disappointed in her. As she and Spike had walked back to the flat, they'd talked around what he'd said to her in the alley. Willow knew he was probably right. She'd have to learn both sides of her character before she could really understand that interconnectedness the coven was trying to teach her about.

The hardest thing had been to see Spike's sad acceptance. It reminded her of those learned helplessness experiments on dogs that she'd read about in psych classes. Somehow he'd known, seeing her use her powers like that, that she couldn't help him, not right now at least, and his silent acceptance of it broke her heart into thousands of pieces. Maybe worst of all was knowing he would leave now, and Willow did not want him to go. She loved the way he called her Red, how comfortable he acted, and most of all, that he didn't treat her with kid gloves. He wasn't casual or dismissive of what she'd done, but he didn't act like she was something to run from, either. Willow imagined not many people, maybe not even Buffy and Xander, would ever treat her as normal again.

Sighing, Willow said, "There's protection and then there's, you know, _flame on._ "

"You did what you needed to do, Willow. That's what you're here to learn about -- how to tell the difference." Giles's voice was stern, but his face was kind.

Spike watched her carefully to see if the cracks would show, but the girl was holding herself together well. There was strength inside she didn't know about. He'd miss her; knew he'd see her back in Sunny D eventually, but it still felt like a loss when he'd only just found someone who understood what he was going through.

"Anyway," Giles said, clearing his throat. "About that phone call. I think I may have something for you to pursue in the event that Willow can't help you..." Spike was shaking his head and making a cutting motion across his throat while Giles spoke. "What?"

"She can't help me. Or at least, she shouldn't, not now. You were right."

Willow got that stricken expression, and he sat up straighter. "Don't come over all weepy again, I'm not brassed or anything. Just the way it is right now. I made my own bed." To Giles he said, "If you'll let me kip here tonight, I'll go in the morning."

"Of course you can, don't be ridiculous. But look, I did have an idea and I think it may pan out."

Willow raised her eyebrows and stared at him hopefully. Christ, she was so cute it hurt. It wasn't like how he felt about Buffy, but... a bloke could want to try it on with her, that was certain. If she wasn't already inclined other ways.

"I took the liberty of calling Angel's detective team--"

"Oh, sod that! No you don't! I'm not going crawling to that bastard--"

"Spike," Giles said coldly, bringing him up short. "I'm not asking you to. There is someone who works with Angel, someone who may be able to find a way to get you what you want. He's a former watcher, actually."

"Wesley?" Willow squeaked. "You gotta be kidding. We're talking some serious firepower here. Wesley would burn himself lighting a match."

Giles pushed his glasses up on his nose. "I know this is very big. And while I haven't kept in close contact with him, I have had some ongoing communication and he's really rather... changed."

Willow snorted. "Aren't we all." Spike grinned at her.

"Well, yes. And he's become quite an expert in the field of demonology, not to mention magicks both dark and light. He has managed to amass an astonishing collection of books, from what I understand. He may just be your man."

"Wow, Wes. I mean... he was like the doofiest of doofs, ever. The crown prince of doofuses. Doofi?"

"I can assure you the doofus has been beaten out of him."

If that was all that was left to him, Spike thought, taking a deep breath, then he supposed he had to check it out. But he wasn't certain how he could even approach such a task. It wasn't like Angel would welcome him in and start doling out his friends' help based on their past chumminess.

Giles held something out. "Consider this a gift." It was an airline ticket to Los Angeles.

"I don't think I can take this."

Willow put her hand on his arm. "Don't be stubborn. Okay? Stubborn is what always gets people in trouble."

Women. Always telling him what to do. But he couldn't stand the tremble of her mouth and the way her eyes glistened. Nodding, he took the ticket. "Don't know how I could ever repay you."

"You'll find a way," Giles said. "I trust that much about you now."

It was almost enough to make a fella want to cry.


	3. Lost in Space

The gift of life, it's a twist of fate  
It's a roll of the dice...

 

 

The hotel lobby was empty and dark; as the door closed behind Spike the room echoed hollowly. The place was a little the worse for wear, but not run-down. The dark colors and rounded furnishings bespoke Art Deco, a period style Spike had always been fond of. A telephone on the counter rang loudly.

At least Angel seemed to have come up a bit in the world, although there was a sort of cognitive dissonance about visiting an old hotel in order to do business with a detective agency. He waited to see if anyone would answer the phone, but then it stopped ringing, and still no one appeared. Either they answered it from elsewhere, or everyone was out detecting. Should he call out, or just sit on the round settee and wait? All the rules were so different now. He found it a constant test to navigate the day to day landscape, to make sure he did the proper, correct thing, after all these years of doing whatever the hell he pleased.

And the mere act of living day to day meant doing things others found improper. Spike had needed to steal a passport in order to travel, and finding a white person who looked enough like himself in Africa had been more than a challenge. Giles had disapproved of stealing money, but earning it the honest way was a hurdle when you didn't exist in the world. Third-world countries, you could work for a bit of dosh without ID, but not so much in the industrialized world. It was next to impossible to simply take what he wanted when he didn't have the strength and abilities of a demon, and he was nervous about approaching the underground demon networks lest they discover his altered status and, say, kill or eat him.

As he was deciding what to do, a scrawny little dark-haired woman came out from a room behind the counter. "Oh!" she squeaked when she saw him. "I'm sorry, has anyone helped you? I'm Fred."

Spike raised his eyebrows and extended his hand towards hers. That's right, people shake hands when they meet. Check. "I'm looking for someone called Wesley Wyndham-Pryce."

"Oh! Well... oh. Well. He's, um." He detected a faint trace of some type of southern accent, but he wasn't certain what region, what with her monosyllabic, stuttering response.

"This is--" he nearly choked on the words, "Angel Investigations, right? Have I come at a bad time?" She made Willow seem cool and detached, and he couldn't imagine what function this stumbling, twittery girl could perform at a supernatural detective agency. Angel could break her with his little finger.

"No, no, it's just... you see, Wesley's not... he works here, I guess you could say, but he hasn't really _worked_ here for a while and though he does come by he's not what you'd call a _regular_ employee on a daily basis and--"

She was cut off by a familiar voice. "And he's not your business anyway, Spike." Angel stood behind the counter with a young black man, both of them glowering and imposing. Well, things had changed mightily since last he'd visited.

"Afternoon to you too, Angel."

Under her breath, just barely loud enough for Spike to hear, Fred said, "No tension you could cut with an axe _here_ , no sir."

"What do you want, Spike?" Angel barked.

Fred turned to Angel and the other one. "Wait. Spike? Did you say... this is _the_ Spike?" She took a few steps backwards.

"Before everyone gets out the fiery crossbows, I'm not here to hurt anyone."

Angel just glowered. Like that would work, like it had ever worked.

"Rupert Giles sent me," he said to Angel, who crossed his arms over his chest, all pouty and self-righteous. Not much the poof could say against Giles. "Look, if you just tell me where to find this Wesley bloke, I'll not darken your lobby anymore, all right? Jesus."

"I wouldn't send you to my worst enemy."

Spike was not deterred. "He work with you?"

"Sort of."

"Still the loquacious type, eh? Look, things have happened, I need his help, Rupert and Willow have been in contact with him, they told him I was coming. I'm not going to do anything to him." He looked around the room. "Hey, where's Cordelia?"

Angel looked at Gunn and Fred, and nodded his head in the direction of the stairs. The last thing he wanted was for them to have to deal with Spike; it would be impossible for Gunn to resist trying to stake the little shit once Spike started making sarcastic or racist remarks. Gunn wasn't patient with demons of Spike's nature. He'd never had to be.

"Come into my office," Angel growled.

Spike gave Fred a speaking look and then followed Angel when he beckoned towards the door. Fred watched Spike with fascinated eyes as he walked past her, which Angel found disturbing. The last thing he needed was for Fred to get fascinated by a vampire like Spike. She had a tendency to be intrigued by things that scared her, and she'd heard enough about Spike that he would definitely scare her.

Angel sat behind the desk and stared at Spike. He looked... weird, Angel thought. His hair had grown out a lot of the bleach, and his skin had color to it. He was thinner than normal and there was a dragged-down quality to him Angel couldn't pinpoint. "What do you want with Wesley?" he asked. His memory was imprinted with the last time he'd seen Spike: his torturer, his would-be killer.

"Isn't that sort of my business?" Spike asked, sitting in the chair opposite. "Whatever he discussed with Giles, that was for me and him. Don't remember you being involved. And if the fella doesn't even work for you anymore..."

"He does. It's just complicated."

"Which hasn't got a bloody thing to do with me. Not asking you for help, mate. Just asking where the bloke is."

"I want to know why you're here before I tell you _any_ thing." He'd heard enough about Spike's behavior in the past few years to know that he was still as problematic as ever, despite the chip thing.

"It's a long story."

"Something's different about you."

"Yeah, and since you and me aren't chums, I'm not telling." He got up to go. "Fine, I'll just check with Fred, why don't I? She seems helpful."

Just then Angel realized what it was -- with Spike's movement he could hear and smell it. "You have a heartbeat. There's blood moving in you."

Spike stopped, looking at the door, twisting his mouth in a grimace. "Got it in one. My, you are the clever lad, aren't you?" Spike sat down again, while Angel got up from behind the desk and stalked around the room. It was unnerving, reminding Spike more than a bit of old Angel. He used to pace around like that when he was plotting torment.

"You're _human_?"

"Something I'm trying to change."

Angel disappeared behind him and then suddenly, terrifyingly, Spike was lifted off his feet, fangs sinking into his throat. He struggled against Angel, bellowing in pain, then landed an elbow to the gut, knocking Angel off balance just enough to get himself loose. Blood poured hotly from his neck, and his entire head felt like it was on fire. He'd completely forgot what it was like, after all these years.

"You son of a bitch! What the fucking hell is wrong with you!"

Angel wiped his mouth, his fang-face melting away. "I wanted to see if it was real." His eyes glittered coldly. "It's the only way to know for sure, isn't it?" He shook his head like a dog getting water off its fur.

"Fuck you!" Blood seeped between his fingers and the wounds throbbed. "God _dammit!_ " If he'd thought it would have any more impact than a bee sting, he would have punched the prat right in his stupid Irish gob. "You did it because you wanted to show me who's boss, you fucking cunt." Angel circled around him, staring intently like a hunter to prey, before finally going back behind the safety of the desk. Spike rubbed at his forehead, the beginnings of a headache keeping a martial beat inside his brain. Jesus jumped up Christ on a biscuit, could this get any worse? "You bit me. You fucking _bit_ me." He kicked at the chair in his blind rage, trying to break the arm for a stake, but Angel was there instantly, holding onto his shoulders. Spike yanked himself out of Angel's grasp, seething, heart pounding.

A little meep sound and a deeper gasp came from just outside the door. Angel rolled his eyes. "Would you two stop prowling?"

Fred and Gunn entered the office and Fred immediately rushed to Spike, pulling his hand away. "Oh my god," she cried, and looked at Gunn. They both stared at Angel in utter bewilderment. "What did you do to him? And _why_ , if he's human?"

"So you _were_ listening."

"Well, thank god we were, if this is what you're going to do!" Fred made a helpless face. "I should get a bandage for this."

"Sorry," Gunn said, "just that... this kinda stuff from your past lately's been turning things a little upside down, you know what I'm saying?"

All that did was exasperate Spike. "I'm not turning anything any way."

"Angel, how could you do this?" As mousy as she was, it didn't seem to upset anyone that she talked to the lummox that way. He had to give the girl props for that.

"I wanted to be sure," Angel said defensively. "Not certain I could trust what I was sensing and what he said."

"Probably because you're a barking lunatic, you stupid fuck." Spike was really not having a good day; sod Giles and the horse he rode in on for suggesting this asinine trip.

"Man, I cannot believe you bit the guy!" Gunn was a little too bemused by the whole thing for his tastes. "When's the last time you chowed down on anyone?"

That was just the last straw for Spike, who felt broken and feeble and slow, and mostly enraged because of all that. In the olden days, they'd have been dead a half hour ago. "And who the bloody hell are you? Where's Cordy and the mick?" This was exactly why he hadn't wanted to come here -- he'd known Angel would do something to make him suffer. Fred came back with gauze, tape, and disinfectant and started tending the bites.

" _The mick died_. Saving a bunch of people's lives, if you want to know."

Chagrined, Spike mumbled an apology. "And Cordelia?" he added. Everyone looked at the walls, the ceiling, the floor. "What?"

Angel cleared his throat. "She's missing. She's been missing most of this summer."

"Oh." Spike took a deep breath. "Oh, look, sorry. Didn't mean..." Bloody hell, what the fuck had been happening here? They were all acting squirrelly -- unless this was how Fred always was -- and there was something really wrong with how Angel reacted every time Spike said Wesley's name. Insanity was one thing, edginess and obfuscation another. Fred stepped back from her efforts and pronounced him fit for duty.

"It's all right," Fred said about Cordelia. "We're hoping now that we've got Angel back, we can find her." She gave Angel a scolding look. "And on top of rude biting behavior, no one introduced you. This is Charles Gunn, and I'm Fred Burkle. Winifred, but everyone calls me Fred. And Lorne's not here, but you'll know him when you see him because he's a green demon. Kinda hard to miss. He doesn't bite, though." She scowled at Angel again for good measure.

"Pleased to meet you both," Spike told them, but Gunn merely glared. He was going to hate Spike just on principle, that much was obvious. Cripes, this was a bloody waste of time. "What do you mean, now that Angel's back?"

They all went silent again. Oh, for fuck's sake. Clearly he'd walked in on something huge, and it was time to just back away slowly.

Turning to Angel, he held his hands up toward the great oaf in a gesture of supplication. "I have no sodding idea what I've stepped into here, but clearly, it's big enough to fill that lobby. And you're _insane_. Maybe I could just get Wyndham-Pryce's address, and leave you all to deal with it in a big dysfunctional family way."

The way Gunn looked at him made him distinctly uncomfortable. "Maybe we could get back to this human thing. Am I the only one who finds this a little on the disturbing side?"

Scowling, Spike said, "No, you're not. That's why I'm _here_."

Angel sighed heavily and his big Neanderthal shoulders sagged. "Just... sit down and tell us what happened and what you want." Only this time he was a bit friendlier. If he hadn't been a puny little human, he'd have beat Angel's head into a soggy pulp by now. Christ, he hated the bastard.

Spike reluctantly told him the story, only the Reader's Digest Condensed Books version this time. He left out the ugliest parts, but there was little way to explain his motivations without them and he glossed over it as best he could.

"I'd heard you thought you were in love with Buffy. I didn't believe it. Just thought it was one of your twisted head games." Fred was gawping at Spike, and Gunn was acting distinctly agitated. "So, what, having a soul wasn't good enough, you had to try to one-up me?"

"Yeah, that was exactly my motivation, being king of the hill over you." He ran his fingers through his hair. "You stupid spud, this hasn't got a bastarding thing to do with you. And just for the record, I didn't _want_ to be human. It was a mistake. That's why I'm here."

"You think Wes can fix you?" Gunn asked incredulously.

"Was kind of hoping I'd get a chance to find out, yeah. Before it looked like I was going to get killed doing it." He touched the tape and gauze absently.

Angel stood. He'd dreamed of being able to kill Spike for so very long, but there was no way he could do it now. He was a hostage to his own belief in helping people. He looked beseechingly at Fred and Gunn. "Could you guys leave us alone for a little? It'll be okay." The both made dubious faces. "No bitey. Promise."

Gunn backed out the door, keeping his eye on Spike, but Fred seemed more fascinated than anything. She loved the weird demon stuff. Probably she was already starting a paper in her head about valiant vampires or something. He closed the door behind them and leaned against it.

"You did all this because you wanted to be good enough for Buffy."

"Wasn't my plan. None of it... falling for her, the chip, staying in Sunnydale, human. Just wanted to give her what she deserved. None of them can get past the soul thing, and I thought I needed it to prove to her that I was capable of better. She didn't believe it otherwise."

All the years of loathing had carved such a deep chasm between them that he couldn't have imagined feeling kind towards Spike. But now was not the right time to hang onto hatred.

"She's easy to love," Angel said sadly.

"No! She's not!" Spike barked. "It's _torture_ to love her, especially when she's so hung up on that soul thing."

"All right, I'll grant you. There's a semantic distinction. I meant she's easy to fall in love with."

Spike arched his eyebrows and rolled his eyes. "Can't argue with that."

"I don't wanna ask if you..."

"Best not to, mate. Ignorance is bliss."

Angel squeezed his eyes closed, trying to keep a grip on his emotions. First he loses Cordy just when he realizes he cares for her, now he finds out Buffy was involved with the one vampire he loathed most in the world. Worst of all, now it would be easy to kill Spike. A quick snap of the neck and no more problems. But aye, there's the rub -- the human factor. Not that Angel hadn't killed humans before; viability didn't make a difference if you were evil. But Spike was trying to do good, do right by the woman he cared for more than anything else. Reason eight-hundred and thirty-four Spike was the most annoying creature on the planet.

Outside the room, he heard Fred and Gunn whispering. _"Should we do something? I mean, what I heard about Spike was pretty bad."_

_"How much have you heard?"_

_"Not a lot, just the idle conversation and what Cordy told me about Angel when we first met, but still..."_

_"Boss man says leave it alone, we leave it alone."_

When Angel glanced at Spike he could see he was listening too. Maybe Spike had retained some of his vampire abilities? Or maybe just anyone could hear outside that door. Angel rolled his eyes and shrugged, stood up straight.

"My reputation precedes me, apparently." Spike made a face. "What do they know?"

"A little. About my past and Sunnydale."

"How much do they know about the fearsome foursome?" Spike had a hard time imagining that Angel would tell them about all that. Much easier to talk about horrible evil Spike and evil Dru, keep the blame on someone else entirely and ignore his own unsavory past.

"Some. They met Darla a while ago. A lot of history came out."

"This was after you'd set Darla and Dru on fire?"

"Yeah. When she was... pregnant."

"I beg your pardon?" Spike looked for a sign that the berk was taking the piss, but Angel's utterly blank face was as utterly blank as it always was.

"So... you never heard about that. About my son."

"Your -- what? Your _what_?" Wouldn't do to start shrieking like a girl. Calm down.

"Darla and I had a child. A son, Connor."

"For fuck's sake! Of course I never bloody heard about it! Has _Buffy_ heard about it?"

"That I can't tell you."

"How the bleeding hell could two vampires have a child? And is it a vampire? A super-vamp? What?" Outside the door he could hear Fred and Gunn asking each other if they thought Spike needed their help again. Probably because Spike was still shrieking like a teenage girl.

"It's a long story."

"Oh, too bloody right it's long story, I'm _sure_ it's a long story, but you owe it me, mate. After I told you mine and all."

Angel seemed to take that under consideration and started pacing around the office. This time, though, Spike kept a wary eye on him and shifted in his seat so that Angel was never out of his sight. After one of his long brooding silences, he told Spike what had happened in his monosyllabic, monotone way. It was obviously something Angel didn't relish talking about. Spike just sat there, gobsmacked.

"And this Wesley... he's in the doghouse because he kidnapped the kid?"

Nodding, Angel added, "I tried to kill him."

That took Spike a few moments to process. "What, did you lose your soul again? You tried to kill your closest friend? You really have gone off your nut, haven't you?"

Angel glared at Spike with such ferocity and loathing that Spike felt the temperature go up in the room a few degrees. "I was bereft."

But Spike would have none of it. Angel couldn't make excuses for his bad behavior, as if all it came down to was some neatly drawn line between soul and not-soul. Pretending he hadn't learnt the same stupid lesson Willow was learning right now over in Devon -- that evil and good can coexist, soul or not. "You were psychotic, you stupid twat. And this bloke had the decency to rescue you, while your beloved, conveniently all-grown-up son is off somewhere in exile because he tried to kill daddy. You do know how to choose 'em, mate."

Angel made helpless, annoyed gestures at him. "Remind me again why you're here?"

Spike was suddenly longing for a cigarette for the first time since he'd been changed. "Point taken. All right, no more judgments. Just... Jesus Christ, what a story. You realize the kid's probably fucked up beyond repair."

"Probably," Angel answered with such hopelessness and despair that Spike's heart actually went out to him. What a surrealistic landscape he was wandering in these days.

"We're a pair, aren't we?"

Angel didn't respond. He stood so close that for the first time in over a hundred years, Spike could remember what was attractive about the enormous dolt. There was a kind of magnetism that pulled you in, despite your best efforts. It made him shiver a little. He hadn't thought about those days, about the fucking and the fighting and the torment and the pleasure, for so long now it seemed as if he'd made it up on a bored night. It was so easy to hold contempt for Angel as soul-boy that he'd forgot just how very, very good Angel could be when he was very, very bad. Spike looked up into Angel's dark eyes, and blinked. Angel must have been lost in his own little reverie, too, because they stared silently at each other for a while, until Spike remembered where he was, and what he was.

"Well, anyway. Time I went, right? Can you help me find this Wesley bloke, or not?"

"This Wesley bloke's found _you_ ," a reedy, RP-accented voice said from near the door. Spike turned to find a tall, dark-haired man with small glasses leaning against the door jamb. He had a face that looked as if it hadn't smiled in years, and a still-vivid scar spanning the width of his throat.

"Wes," Angel said with surprise.

"You must be Spike, I presume." He nodded at Spike, and jerked his head in the direction of the lobby. "Fred called. Told me I had a visitor. And when I heard who it was, I couldn't resist the chance to come down. I hope I haven't intruded."

Angel got fidgety and tense. "No."

God, you'd think Angel had to pay for every syllable he spoke or something. Spike stood and said hello. "Believe Rupert rang you about this?"

"Yes. And, well, it's really rather unprecedented, isn't it?" The voice was getting reedier, more excited. Spike had a bad feeling Wes might see him as more of a thing than a person, but if it got him closer to his goal, then thing he would have to be.

"Unfortunately."

"I'd like to hear your story, if you don't mind. May I take you somewhere for dinner?" He was staring at the bandage on Spike's neck, but was clearly not going to ask about it until they were no longer in Angel's presence. Spike was already warming to the bloke.

"Food would be welcome, but... the truth is, I'm completely shagged out from traveling. It's about six a.m. tomorrow for me right now. Hadn't a chance to even stop and get a room yet."

"Oh!" Wesley said with the excitement only an Englishman can muster over the chance to be polite, "if you like you could stay at my flat. I haven't a guest room, but the sofa's quite comfortable..."

Angel gave a little tilt of his head and kind of shook it a little, eyes staring up at the ceiling. "You can... you can stay here if you want. A lot of the rooms are empty but usable. Wes can hang around and collect you later. Some... work we could go over." It wasn't what you'd call an imploring look, but on Angel it was the closest thing Spike had ever seen to one.

After feeling like persona non grata for so long, suddenly he had a wealth of choices. But much as he hated Angel, staying at Chez Vampire seemed the most logical thing. "Since I'm here, might as well stay, I suppose. Ta, to you both." It was getting easier, this thanks business.

Angel asked Fred to show Spike to a room, while they stayed downstairs to confab over the situation. Clearly Angel was trying to smooth things over with Wesley, but Gunn was holding some kind of grudge, only Spike couldn't figure out what, exactly. Maybe it had something to do with Cordy. He heard Wes say something about the bandage. His hearing was still nearly as acute as when he was a vampire, strangely, but after they were up the landing he lost track of their whispered comments.

Talking a blue streak at him, Fred explained about the hotel and who all lived there and why the others didn't and then, once she realized there was nothing more to say, went off to get him some sheets and blankets for the bed. When he was alone, he looked out the window at the palm-lined street below. It had been a while since he'd been back in the land of palm trees and brown sky. He felt so displaced, not simply because he'd been traveling since the day before, but because he no longer felt like someone with a home. Even though his eventual goal was Sunnydale, it felt even less like a homeward destination than anyplace else. Before the chip, he'd never needed a home, the world had been his oyster, his feeding ground, his toy. Now, though, he was without grounding and focus. He didn't belong anywhere.

Spike sat on the edge of the bed, gazing at the wash of sunlight arcing through the window. They must be completely flummoxed down there. He'd had a sense that Wesley was excited, that it had fed some inner geeky watcher mindset, but Angel must be simply beside himself. The old adversaries, now both on the same side, both fighting their natures and stuck with this world because they loved the wrong girl.

The wrong girl. When he thought about Buffy lately it was almost peripherally, as if she was some sort of concept rather than a real person. Now he was back in California, it felt real, it was as if he could feel her presence in this room -- though she'd of course never been here. Probably it was because of her connection to Angel, but it felt freighted with a past he'd lost sight of recently.

Suddenly Fred was there in the doorway with bedding. Spike was prepared to make the bed up, but she insisted on helping. "I hope you don't mind, but I asked Wesley if I could help him with whatever research he does. You wouldn't mind, I mean, if I come along and listen to the story of how you got like this and all? And then, if there's something to do, well, Wesley and I make a pretty good team. I'm a scientist, or I mean I was a scientist till I got sucked into another dimension but of course you don't need to know that, just that with his background and my background and you're a scientific wonder, I don't doubt that it could be..." She stopped smoothing and stood up. "Sorry. I just get a little excited sometimes."

It reminded him so much of Willow that he didn't mind. "'S all right. Wouldn't mind the extra company."

"You and Angel... you're still kinda... enemies, aren't you?"

"Wouldn't go that far. But we're not chums, either. Lot of history there."

"Bad history." She nodded sagely.

"Lots and lots. Couple decades' worth of some large-bore emotional crap, and then him trying to end the world and all, stealing my girlfriend. You know, same old story."

Her giggle was infectious. "You guys were part of a group, right? With Darla? She was a little... intense."

"Darla was the epitome of evil." Spike was so tired he wasn't thinking about how he was talking. "Her and Angel both, really, before he got all soully. Christ, the things he used to do to me."

Fred was staring at him in the most puzzled way. She raised her eyebrows, and looked around the room. "So! You're all settled in here. I better go make sure they're not getting into trouble." She gave him a girlish glance and then fluttered to the door. "Come find us when you're awake."

It was funny, the way others treated him. Angel being more supportive than he wanted to be, Wesley and Fred intrigued, Giles and Willow so kind and open. If he'd come here before, as a vampire, even one in need of help, there wouldn't have been such warm gestures. No matter how well-behaved he might have been, they would never have opened themselves to him without a soul. Though, of course, Angel wouldn't have been able to bite him if he'd been a vamp.

When he'd left England he'd tried not to dwell on that, how weak and incapable and _dependent_ he was now. How very uselessly human. The chip had made him one kind of helpless; this human thing was another, one far less escapable. Then, he'd at least been able to blame someone; now he had only himself to answer to. A miserable failure.

Watching Willow use her power, even power she was afraid and ashamed of, he'd felt small and useless; now these people would view him as a lab rat, even smaller and even more useless except as a point of interest for a future paper or something. He couldn't fight, he couldn't frighten, he couldn't inspire hatred or dread. Only pity seemed left to him, and that wasn't exactly a prize worth seeking.

Spike lay down on the fresh, sweet-smelling sheets and stared at the patterns on the art deco ceiling. Now he couldn't sleep. Sometimes you hit a point where you're so exhausted you can't actually find sleep, can only lie there while your mind pulses obsessively with every minute detail you want to forget. He closed his eyes and tried to will the thoughts away, but sleep avoided him.

 

There's a place off the 1 near Malibu he likes driving to when he's feeling restless. It's farther up the coast, and you can pull the car over to the side where it's quiet, and stare out at the water and the deep night sky. In his mind he's not in a room at a run-down hotel, instead he's here on this grassy overlook with Buffy. He's brought her here to get away, to make love in the car under the stars, their bare skins cloaked in the cool winter night.

She comes to him off and on, his itinerant, erstwhile lover. She rarely speaks to him for longer than necessary, but there's a desperation this time in her eyes that tells him all the story he needs to hear. In a way it comforts him that she hides everything except her desire; he can keep his emotions in check with greater ease. This night she is more hopeless than usual, so he takes her to a movie at a megaplex outside town, careful that they won't run into anyone. Then they drive up the coast, drive to forget.

Though they make love again and again, this night is so different from the others. Because, for once, they are not hiding or furtive, secreted away in his hole in the ground or in some dark alley. She lets herself just be with him, her guard down, a foreign connection and openness he hasn't felt before. He doesn't know why; probably it's something mundane like a fight with Dawn, a dunning notice from a collector. The things that grind her down into dust. They only leave when the sun threatens to come up. Usually it's Buffy who leaves Spike, Buffy who demands he go. Buffy who hides.

He can feel her under his hands now in this sleepless room, the slip of her silky skin, the pearly glow of her lips in faint dashlight, his fingers wet with her juices as he slides them along secret places only they two share. It haunts him, a waking dream: that he had something and it is gone, vapor that dissipates into air. The faint trace like a whiff of cologne after someone has walked past.

The connection has been severed and he drifts alone in space, the way astronauts do when they move outside the ship, tethered only by a thin white line against that void. Though he scrambles desperately for the line, it eludes him; the harder he tries, the farther away he falls.

He can still taste her, the longing leaves its flavor across his tongue and lips. He has memorized every inch of her body and knows how it looks outlined against stars and inky sky, or in the amber glow of candlelight as she moves above him. This is what love is to him now: memory and scar and revenant. A ghost of his misery that flutters among the empty rooms inside his mind and heart like a grieving widow.

 

"Hi-ho the merry-o, my little Chiclets," Lorne said, side-stepping down the stairs and removing his shades. Most of the gang was here, strangely, even Wes. "What's with all the sour pusses?" While he hadn't been able to bring back any real news about Cordy after a day spent asking questions of the local demonhood, he did at least have a few leads to offer them, and it always made Angel feel better when there were places to go he could bash heads and ask questions. But judging by the looks on their kissers, maybe even that wouldn't make them feel better, so he didn't say anything about it.

"We have a guest," was all Fred said, casting her eyes to the floor.

"Blast from the Angel past," Gunn added.

"Oh, I get it, we're playing _Who's Most Cryptic?_ today. Wish you guys would give me the old heads-up sometimes; I forgot my flash cards." He fixed his eye on Wes. "And hey, don't you look like you've been folded into the dry ingredients, hmmm? Are you back for good?"

"I'm only here until he wakes up," Wes demurred, gazing sidelong at Angel with what Lorne thought was marked tension. Oh, for Marthbungle's sake, he wished the two of them would just kiss and make up.

"So who is it, already?" He frowned at Angel, who at least, while monosyllabic, usually answered the questions posed to him.

"Spike," Angel said, glowering.

"Spike? Hmmm... doesn't ding-dong any of my chimes. But he sounds like rough trade. Is he rough trade?" Lorne asked with a dramatic shiver.

"Very," Wes said dryly. "Punk-rock vampire who killed two slayers, and nearly killed... uh, the most recent one. His paramour killed another."

"Nearly killed me." Angel was barely audible, so that was Lorne's first real sign that this wasn't something to tease about.

"And he's a _guest_?"

"Well," Fred said to the floor, "it gets weirder than that. He's human now, and so we couldn't just kick him out. And Angel was his sire. And Angel bit him just now. Plus he's kind of interesting in a scientific anomaly way, and Mr. Giles from England sent him to Wesley so that we could find a way to turn him back--"

"To a murdering _vampire_? Uh, no offense," he said at Angel, "it's not really the vampire part I meant to hit, there. Just that, you know..." This really was the strangest group. When you spent any real time with them, everything started to make sense -- the fact that he'd lost his club because of them, and that he'd nearly been stuck back in Pylea again, or any number of injustices. The kids had good intentions, but everyone knew the road was paved all to hell and back with those.

"He was kind of... reformed," Angel grudgingly admitted.

"Oh, well, that makes it okay then." He stopped. "You _bit_ him? Even though he's human?"

The only sensible person here seemed to be Gunn, who was rolling his eyes and pacing around with that agitated walk that made his backside move like a porch swing.

Angel fixed Lorne with a sad stare. "In some ways, I'm kind of responsible for what he was and what he is. And it's hard for me to go around saying I want to help people, and then not help one of them because of ancient history. We agreed before you came in that if we can do anything, we will. All we can do is try."

When Angel got all knight in ultrabright armor, there really wasn't much you could do but go along. They were all back in the bosomy bosom of AI, more or less, and Lorne was the last person who could complain about their need to play Round Table since he'd benefited from it so recently.

Angel looked at Fred, Gunn, and Lorne for confirmation, and they all sighed theatrically, but acceded. Then he looked at Wes, and the two of them nodded in a manful way, not speaking.

"Oh, just kiss already," Lorne muttered in exasperation.


	4. Monkey's Paw

Nature's got rules, and nature's got laws  
And if you cross her, watch out!  
It's the monkey's paw

 

Wes pushed his glass of iced tea toward the center of the table and looked intently at Spike. "Sooo... you didn't, I warrant, tell Angel about this... event... that drove you to get the soul?"

Spike winced. "Figured it was safest not to, and there's more to it than just, you know, that."

Fred raised her eyebrows, her lips shaped into a doubtful little O.

In the harsh fluorescent lights of the all-night diner, Spike looked so haggard and sad that Wes felt sympathetic, despite the story he'd just told them. It would be easy to get self-righteous and accuse Spike of making excuses, but Wes knew all too well how simple it was to become subsumed by rage, to let anger or desperation overpower you into making horrifying mistakes. Even when you cared deeply for the person you were hurting. Judging by the violent history he'd had with Buffy, Spike would have been a dreadful judge of how far was too far to go. "And Buffy? Do you think she'd really forgive you were you to return home, a changed vampire?"

Spike pushed the parsley around on his plate and looked out the window. Not much to watch outside at 3:15 a.m. but the winos stumbling along in the parking lot, looking for cigarette butts. "I have no bloody idea." His voice was distant, as if he wasn't really answering the question but carrying on an internal dialog that had nothing to do with them. "Can't blame her if she only wants to kill me. But from what Rupes said, I may hate myself far worse than she does."

Out of the corner of his eye, Wes saw Fred hang her head, embarrassed. She dropped some water from her straw onto the bunched up paper covering, and they all watched it uncurl like a snake. At times he was still haunted by what had happened when Billy's hatred had infected him, scarred by knowing how easily he could have hurt, maybe even killed, Fred in his delusional state. And undone by how tenderly she had forgiven him afterwards, so generous and caring. It was why her later rejection of him in the hospital had been so devastating, when the circumstances had been so different, less personal. Wes wished he knew how to tell Spike that he understood, both the situation and Spike's pain at his actions. To offer him some comfort that not all hope was lost; only Wes wasn't sure he knew Spike well enough yet. It seemed as if Spike wanted to do right, to atone, but his past with Angel suggested so much otherwise. Everything around Spike appeared contradictory and confusing, so it was easier to simply focus on Spike's primary goal and let that be the catalyst for their discussion.

This whole situation _was_ absolutely fascinating. Wes had searched through the few books at AI to see if he could find any information about a vampire being returned to life, but so far, he'd found nothing; he was certain that if he looked further, he'd still come up blank. Spike seemed so calm, sort of resigned to it, but finding a solution was the first thing Wes had felt excited and positive about since he couldn't even remember when. There would be enough journal articles for years once he was done with this.

Now playing with her pancakes, Fred looked up at Spike, then made a valiant attempt to change the subject, backing away from the more emotional area they'd stumbled into. "Angel told us something a little strange, when you were upstairs."

"Oh? What's that?"

"He said... you tasted funny." Wes looked at Fred in embarrassment, and Spike guessed that wasn't the only thing Angel told them.

"Tasted funny. That's a new one on me. Never complained before how I tasted, back in the day." He smiled ruefully at memories that perhaps he should regret, but didn't, really.

"You... he..." Fred stared at him, wide-eyed and wide-mouthed. She tried again. "He's bitten you before?"

"Ohhh yeahhhh. Among many other things."

Wes's fork hung suspended in mid-air. Fred gawped.

Oh. So apparently Angel didn't tell them anything else. "Ah... clearly I have rather indiscreetly strayed into a large grey area here. I gather Angel never gave you the Interpersonal Dynamics of Vampires in Groups lecture?"

Her face had turned red as the vinyl booth seats and she stared down at the table, shredding her napkin. Wes cleared his throat repeatedly, before answering, "Ah, no. Apparently this was something he chose to keep to himself. Rightly so, rightly so."

"How 'bout we change the subject then, right now?"

"Works for me," Fred muttered. She looked up under her brows toward the window, as if someone would come in and rescue them. Spike kept forgetting that you couldn't just say things to people. You had to carefully consider it, worry over whether you were saying too much or too little. It was all too fraught.

"So, what is it you two had in mind, then? What do you mean when you say you want to run tests?"

"Based on what Angel said and judging by your appearance, you may have come back in some kind of altered state. We could do a few tests and see what we can find." Wes's face was still scarlet, but he was pretty good on the backswing, Spike had to give him credit for that.

"Like...." Spike prompted. He had visions of sitting in a sinister chair with electrodes and wires attached to his parts, electricity crackling all around.

"Oh, the usual," Fred answered, all perky and robust. "Blood, DNA, body fluids. A kind of homemade CT scan. Magnetic resonance. Blood pressure, heart rate, cell counts..."

He eyed her skeptically. "This your idea of fun?"

"Well, I'm actually a physicist, but one thing I've learned since I came to work for Angel, it's supernatural biology. I think my science training really helped."

There was something adorable about how she got very excited, spoke quickly, and then slowed down, an almost self-deprecating tone in her voice. And it was incredibly clear that Wes was smitten with her, but Spike figured it might serve him better if he kept that knowledge to himself.

"I hope you know what you're doing."

"Oh, don't worry," Wes said confidently. "We'd never do anything to hurt you; if we did, then we'd lose our potential research paper subject."

Spike couldn't tell if he was joking or not. "Glad I could be of help, mate."

 

 

Spike scowled at the test tubes, microscopes, and Bunsen burner she had set up on the table in the basement, eyeing everything with a skepticism that rolled off him in waves. She tried to reassure him, but it didn't have a noticeable effect. There was a strange combination of agitation and resignation about him, which made her feel terribly maternal. The last time she'd felt like this was when Angel had been so damaged in her cave back in Pylea. But Fred didn't think Spike was the comforting hug type.

"So, what the bloody hell are you planning to do to me, anyway?" He waved his hands at the chemicals and slides.

"Nothing much," Wes said from behind her. "Blood work, some tissue cultures, a few passive tests where we hook you up to some electrodes."

"No cutting of skin or bandaging," Spike admonished, and Fred nodded.

"Promise -- when he says tissue culture he means a swab from your mouth, that kind of thing. The only pokey stuff is the blood." She leaned over to Wes and whispered harshly in his ear, "Stop scaring him so much. Angel's already spooked him."

Wes sat him down in a chair and took out the blood kit. "Let's get the unpleasant parts out of the way first."

There was something peculiar in how Spike and Wes related to each other, Fred thought. Maybe it was because they were both expat Englishmen, in their own ways. Or something else, she couldn't quite tell. Spike was so chameleon-like \-- he acted differently around each person he was with, as if reflecting back whatever face they showed to him. So maybe he was just reflecting Wesley's characteristics back, or something. She watched while Wes drew blood from Spike, then took the tubes he gave her to start on her analysis.

After some of the other samples were taken, Wes hooked Spike up to a little machine they'd rigged to measure electrical activity in different parts of his body. Without access to serious equipment, this was really the best they could do, but still, they'd done a pretty good job with their makeshift lab.

Spike watched while Wes attached electrodes to his chest, arms, and head, quirking an eyebrow when they made eye contact, which made Wes blush and turn away. It was a bit of fun, provoking him, and sort of flirting, Spike thought. A battle was being fought inside Wes between the dork self and this cooler, darker fellow, and it made an interesting study. Years ago, before Buffy and the soul and everything else, he'd have been able to use that kind of internal struggle in someone in some very interesting ways. Make it work to his advantage, and get some sport out of it.

Spike shook his head and settled back to let Wes play with the machine. Wes had been muttering something at him, and Spike finally leaned over to give him his full attention.

"Sorry, didn't catch that."

"I was just saying that once we get a few things figured out, we could research the books and see if we can't tie this all together."

"Hm. Rupert said there wasn't much, book-wise. Few vampires who tried it, but nothing more."

Wes pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Not to belittle Giles's collection, but most of the truly useful reference works were lost in the school library explosion. This is the sort of thing that can take weeks to unearth, but if we compare our results against those references, we should be able to come up with something. Surely stranger things have happened." He peered at the screen of the tiny monitor, and then added, tapping his finger against the side of his nose, "And, I have a copy of the Fahrad codex."

"Oh, well, then." At some point Spike was sure he'd hear all about why that was significant.

"Though my Farsi is a bit weak."

There was a lot about Wes that reminded Spike of himself as a human, before Dru. Clearly the actions that had put him on Angel's bad side weren't really indicative of character flaws in Wes. It was probably more that the two were so close and had such high expectations of each other, they couldn't help but have friction now and again. And at least Wes seemed to be genuinely interested in helping Spike, even if the end result was only some sort of academic success. Helping Spike would be a good way for Wes to earn his way back into Angel's good graces, so it was all for the good, he hoped.

Twisting and turning his little dials, Wes kept up a steady stream of conversation, nattering on about Angel for the better part of a half hour. When Spike didn't respond with anything more than a grunt of acknowledgement, Wes finally shut up.

"You fancy Angel," Spike said conversationally.

Wes blanched. "I do not fancy Angel." He looked wistful for a moment. "Well, a little, but not that way. More of an 'I aspire to be like him' way. And anyway, everyone fancies Angel, just a bit."

"Hardly."

"Oh, yes, well, apparently the denizens of Sunnydale are mostly immune to his charm." He smirked sourly. "Nevertheless, he does seem to draw _most_ people to his cause and to him."

"It's pheromones. Nothing more. Even the undead have them, and he's just one of those who exude pheromones. Trust me."

Wes arched an eyebrow in response, but Spike didn't elaborate. They already had plenty of little tidbits to chew on.

After a few minutes of just sitting there, Fred moaned, and then exclaimed, "Oh, my god."

"What is it?" Wes asked.

She looked at him with those big doe eyes. "Um, nothing. Just... you know. Interesting stuff!" she said with nervous laughter. She rolled her eyes sideways, though, beckoning Wes to the table, and he went over to look at Fred's microscope.

"Oh, dear." Abruptly he raised his head and looked at Spike. "I mean, my, that _is_ interesting."

Spike sighed dramatically. "You're not fooling anyone."

"It's nothing, really, just something... uh, we've never seen before. Nothing to worry about, I'm sure." But there was nothing even slightly comforting about Wes's eyes. As he came back over to Spike, Wes made harsh little hand gestures at Fred to get her to go back to work, as if he were trying to hide the evidence.

For the next few hours Spike submitted to a mostly silent scrutiny by the two of them, until they said they were done and that he could go if he wanted to. The rest of the lot were off, as usual, searching for Cordy and attempting to help the hopelessly hopeless. He wandered up to the empty kitchen, grabbed a Pepsi and some cheese from the fridge, and went back downstairs to watch the two of them, hunched over their data printouts. Spike sat next to Fred, taking in the scent of her perfume, vanilla and sandalwood and something else he couldn't identify.

"Do you mind... if I check something?" she asked timidly.

"Depends on what you want to check."

"Just..." she moved her hand up to the bandage on his neck. "This." He nodded and she peeled back the gauze, frowning. It hurt more than he wanted to admit. She and Wes exchanged worried looks.

"God, would you stop that? Things are bad enough without you two exchanging knowing glances. It's bloody annoying, yeah?"

Wes cleared his throat, gathered up some of his papers, and left the room. "I'll get some books."

"Sorry," Fred said to him. "I'm just confirming something here." She eyed him suspiciously and said, "So... what you were saying before. About Angel having bit you in the past. You seemed... okay with that."

"You okay when things get a little frisky with Shaft? Or do you only go in for the straight meat and potatoes?"

Fred blinked once, twice, three times. Her skin turned scarlet, vivid even in the low light. It was bothering her a lot, this information. Probably threw her picture of Angel right into the rubbish bin, and made her curious as hell. He'd spotted it right away, that fascination with things that unnerved her.

Fred retaped the bandage over his wound and went back to her microscope; Spike followed her, hopping up on the table to watch. She tried to explain what she was looking at, but he didn't really understand a word of it beyond corpuscles. Science had never been his strong suit. She took the slides and stuck them in the little refrigerator, then busied herself with logging information into a notebook. Her high forehead was creased with a frown. Clearly she was stuck on the thing with Angel, if her constant surreptitious glances were anything to judge by.

"You actually had _sex_ with _Angel_?" she suddenly exclaimed. She'd been waiting all this time for them to be alone so she could get it off her chest, and he laughed.

"Oh, for god's sake, Fred! It was over a century ago. It's not like we went round carrying bloody great torches for each other or something. We hated each other and we fought and we fucked. It's what vampires _do_."

"But... you're not... a vampire anymore." She paused and scowled. It must bother her that he seemed so warmly nostalgic about it all, as if it interfered with all the other information he'd given her. "So, is that why what happened with Buffy happened? I mean, like, you fought and you... you know, had sex?"

She seemed so bloody earnest with her puppy eyes and quavery voice. As if she was trying to understand everything about him so that she could better help, and that made Spike somehow feel all the worse, all the more feeble and pathetic. "You could say that, yeah. The problem is, with humans there's standards and all. Things don't overlap so easily as they do for us -- fighting and fucking, it's no big deal. I forgot that with Buffy, and it hurt both of us in the long run, didn't it?"

"I don't know -- oh, wait, that wasn't a question, right. Sorry. That's that Englishy thing where you ask a question at the end of your sentence without actually asking a question. Wesley does that, too."

Spike smiled at her. "Trust me, Fred. There'll be no repeating of my past history with Angel, ever. I'd completely forgot it till I'd got here."

Fred glanced past his shoulder and saw Wes standing there, so she went back to poking at her slides, not exactly ignoring Spike, but not giving him a reason to stick around. In a way she wanted Spike to leave now so she could discuss all of this data with Wes, find out what he really thought of it all. And see how he felt about Spike's constant reminders of the weird past with Angel. Wes must have known things about Angel's past, far more shocking details, than she would ever have been made privy to, and Wes always had a good perspective on things vampiric.

Plus, Spike was quite suddenly making her feel very, very uncomfortable. Before he'd started telling them about his past, the concept of turning him back had seemed like a good thing, a helpful thing; now, she questioned her own desire to see that happen. There was an element of Spike that seemed... brutal and rough under the humanity, and Fred could feel doubt creeping around in the back of her brain, all dark and shadowy. Spike might not turn out to be anything but scary if he became a vampire again. Angel's comment about the last time he'd seen him, about Spike trying to kill him, chipped away at her resolve. But Fred went back to her work and tried to focus on fulfilling the promise they'd made to him. Breaking a promise was such a crappy, human thing to do, and she wanted to be better than that. More than just Spike's humanity or demonity was at stake here. It seemed very Gothic, very melodramatic in its own way. The romantic in her always won out over the practical.

 

The smell of the jasmine was overpowering this time of night. It reminded Spike a lot of the last time he'd spent with Angel, when he'd been the old Angel, the real one. Everyone distinguished the two, calling that one Angelus, but that only made Spike laugh at the pointlessness of it. It felt so familiar, though. A courtyard filled with night-blooming jasmine, run-down but serviceable place, his posse around him like acolytes. All that was missing was Dru and Darla. And of course Spike's vampirehood. Angel always managed to collect whomever he needed around him, find just the right matching ambience for whatever face he wore. Angel, party of five, your table's ready.

At least in the few weeks he'd been here, things had settled down. Fred and Wesley still poked around in their books, poked around in his skull, but he'd kept himself busy going out on cases with them, helping them research Cordy's disappearance. And he and Angel had reached a kind of semi-comfortable state; no longer a mental Mexican standoff, or stakes and knives hidden away in their pockets. They weren't mates, precisely, but they were tolerant, and could even hold down entire conversations without leaping for the other's throat.

His neck still felt itchy and inflamed, though, and obviously Fred and Wes knew why, even if they weren't eager to tell. The waiting was always the hardest part, or so said Mr. Petty. At some point the science geeks would have to stop nattering about biochemical equations or whatever it was and tell him what they'd found.

Behind him the door to the courtyard clicked open, and Spike felt someone come up behind him. Angel sat down. "Think they found anything?" he asked, checking out the backs of his hands.

The lump was never good at disingenuousness or small talk. "Of course they have, you know that. You've no doubt heard every sodding word they've said."

"I haven't been listening." He turned to look straight at Spike. "Are you afraid?"

Spike shook his head. "Worried. Not afraid. At this point, I've given up hope I'll get back to... normal. Or normalish. But they've found something, they just don't want to tell."

"It worries Wes."

"So he's let on, though not in so many words. Bloke is _not_ a good actor, by the way. Don't send him undercover."

"I try not to." Angel stared at the wall. "We never could get along much, could we? Even at the best of times, when we had a common purpose."

"No. Didn't stop us having good times, though." Though the memory of those good times twisted Spike's gut with shame. He stared off into space for a while. "Sorry about Cordelia."

"Me too."

"Since I'm here, why not let me use my contacts to see if I can dig anything up? No one really knows I'm out of the brotherhood. Might be able to get something you couldn't, what with that pesky halo blinking over your head like a Vegas sign."

"I'd like that." Haltingly, uneasily, Angel added, "So far, what you've done while you've been here has been helpful. With the cases. You might have a future in it, you know."

"Doubt that." He pointed to his temple. "Not that good with the old noggin." They sat quietly for a while.

"I keep asking myself, why would you get a soul? You never had much use for that sort of thing. Even without one, you had... feelings. Almost human."

Spike gave him a sideways glance. "That was always it, wasn't it? What you hated most in me."

"Among other things."

But Angel wasn't so sure he'd hated it. More that he had feared it. Even though he'd always been more powerful physically, stronger because of age and temperament, he'd always known Spike would be the survivor in any climactic battle. He'd proven it by killing slayers, by allying with Buffy against him and Dru, by surviving everything thrown at him, even humanity again. The monster inside Angel could never have survived that chip. If it had been Spike cursed with a soul, Spike chosen to be the world's champion, he would know how to win the interior battle of soul and demon. He would never have let it ruin him or the world around him.

Spike understood emotion. How it helped, how it destroyed. And he was never afraid of it.

"So why did you?"

"Ah, that. Well." Spike fidgeted, his shaking hands betraying the attempt at calm. "Probably kill me once I've told you, but if you could at least wait till I hear Wes and Fred's answers, that'd be nice."

"I won't kill you," Angel said harshly. "Wipe the floor with you, maybe, but not kill. Besides, I think I know what you're going to tell me." What else could drive him to such extremes but being broken by love? Immolated by the remaining trace of humanity searing inside his chest? Angel knew that story all too well; he'd memorized every line, and in between them, too.

"Tried to hurt Buffy. Not the vampire me. The man me. Tried to force myself on her, because I wanted her to love me back. I think she did already, just a bit, and I cocked it up."

As he squeezed his fists, the nails made little half-moon slices in his palms, blood seeping onto his skin. "She probably did." He hated this, being reminded that he'd left no legacy in her life. And that it was Spike of all people who'd walked in to fill up the empty space. "She loves more than she lets on."

"But she's hung up on the soul business. You made sure of that. She likes the monster, but she needs the man's soul." Spike took a leaf from the jasmine, began tearing at it.

Angel shut his eyes tight, tried to unclench his jaw. "I can't hate you for that. I hurt her, once. He did, I mean."

Spike grimaced, glaring at Angel. _Defiant_. A well-remembered look, one he'd seen many times as he'd pushed Spike too far, took advantage of him, and yet Spike forever withstood, forever remained defiant. Defiled, beaten, savaged, humiliated... it didn't matter. Unceasingly defiant, stupidly courageous. Spike was braver than Angel could ever hope to be.

"See, there is your problem, my lad." His lilting voice meant the snark was back, at last. This was the Spike Angel knew best. "I'm not exactly too clever by half, and I'm certainly no psychologist, but you're doing the same bloody thing, always have done, that Willow's doing right now. You heard about her little end of the world soiree, I assume."

"Yeah."

"Spent time with her and Giles over in Bath. Thing about Will is that she doesn't want to accept the dark inside her. That was the problem with Buffy, too, what drove her to me, and then away. Couldn't believe they had the blackness inside 'em, as well as the light. I told her that. Till she accepts that there's evil inside as well as good, she'll never get a handle on it. Might try it yourself. You keep fighting with the old bastard, and you'll never get rid of him. Have yourself a big internal tussle and he'll win, if you don't learn how to live with 'em both. Accept it. Move on."

Angel watched him as he spoke, the spark in his blue eyes, the way the light played on the sharp angles of his face. Suddenly it wasn't hard for him to understand why Buffy would fall for Spike, even knowing she shouldn't. Everything that she needed, everything that those around her weren't, was there inside Spike, and he'd only been waiting to lavish those qualities on her if given half a chance. He was endless in his capacity for devotion; all his years with Dru had proven that. Fiercely loyal, intensely emotional, transparent... he would be the one person she could have access to. He would open his erstwhile heart to her, completely, nothing held back. He could draw love from someone like breath. No wonder Buffy had been so terrified of him.

Angel understood it too well, that dread of letting go. The more frightened you are of love, the more power it has over you.

He got up and walked to the door. Over his shoulder, he said to Spike, "You're smarter than you look."

Spike snorted. "Yeah, thanks, mate. World of good that does me."

 

Wes cleared his throat for the eighth time. Then he looked at Fred again, imploring her for help. She glanced at Gunn for support, but he only held his hands up in surrender.

"Hey, English, don't be looking at me. I ain't in this shindig with y'all. He goes vamp again, I'm only for staking his lily-white limey ass, yo."

Angel rolled his head around on his shoulders, squinting at Gunn. Ever since Spike's arrival, Gunn had been more and more with the street talk, and it was grating on Angel's nerves. He leaned over and said, "You think you could possibly turn it down a notch? Dog?"

Gunn made a face, and Fred put her hand on his arm. "It's okay, Charles," was all she said, which seemed to calm him down. A little estrogen was a good thing to balance all this cranky maleness out.

"Look, we have to tell him," Angel said. "He deserves to know."

"Where is he, anyway?" Gunn asked.

"Upstairs," Lorne answered, brow creased in a scowl, or as much as it could be considering how the horns got in the way. He'd been acting funny since they started this conversation.

"Did he... did he sing for you?" Fred asked nervously.

"Yeah," Lorne said, distracted. "Train in Vain. The Clash. Not a bad set of pipes, that boy. No Lindsey MacDonald, but then, who is? Now, those two would make a cute little couple, don't you think?"

Angel blinked, shaking his head. Why was it so hard to keep his people on topic? "Did you see something important?"

"I'm not sure I should say..."

"Oh, god," Fred whimpered.

"Now, hold on." Wes waved his sheaf of papers at Lorne. "If you have something that will give us more information or help Spike in any way, you should tell us. Don't hold back just because you're not sure what's helpful or not."

"Helpful, maybe not so much. Slit your wrists depressing, could be. Plus, I can see the panties wadding as we speak. Call it my self-preservation instinct, but it might be best kept to myself." He took a sip of his cosmopolitan.

Angel sighed in exasperation. "Just spill it."

Lorne fidgeted, adjusting his jacket, smoothing back his hair. "He may just get to be a vampire again, unless a few monkeys throw their wrenches in and mess it up. Just... not the way he expects. And there may not be any control over the soul issue. And it's going to get very, very ugly in Sunny Delight." He frowned and looked up at Angel. "Does the Disney version do for you, or do you want the English Patient edition?"

Wes sat down hard, dropping his head. This was what he'd been afraid of -- that all this work would be meaningless, that there was something the Powers didn't want them to know or to see, especially Spike's role in it, whether as human or vampire. He breathed deeply, then glanced at Fred and Angel, who were both staring angrily at Lorne.

"We... we should still tell him what we've found. He seems resilient enough to take it. And I don't believe he really expected any of my references or research to help, so it won't come as a disappointment to hear that we haven't turned up anything useful. Yet, anyway." Wes admired that about Spike, his sort of "don't get too excited" attitude. It was not unlike Wes's own lowered-expectations outlook on life.

Angel agreed. "Knowing Spike, he'll blow it off anyway, and just do what he wants to."

"Yeah. That's what I'm afraid of," Lorne said, wincing. "I don't know, I've grown somewhat fond of Blondie in the past few weeks, especially after he helped us out on that last case. That kind of menacing charm doesn't come cheap, you know, and he's a natural. So I don't know that I want to see him suffer."

"There's... suffering?" Fred squeaked.

"Oh, cupcake. There's _always_ suffering."

Wes took hold of Fred's elbow and steered her out of the room, and up the stairs.

 

_Giles is up on the stage at the Bronze, calling a square dance. There are others here, a mix of vampires and humans, but they are faceless, nameless. On the floor are each of the Scoobies, even Tara, all dos-si-doing about on the floor, grim-faced, not meeting each others' eyes. It doesn't matter if Giles calls "allemande left" or any other nonsense command, they each shuffle around and around quietly, no music to guide them, clasping hands, unclasping, staring off into space. They bump past each other, past the nameless and faceless others, a big circle. Buffy feints at taking his hand, but never touches Spike during their dance. She doesn't meet his eyes, and Spike keeps trying to reposition himself in front of her, to make her train her gaze his way, but she is moved as if by a puppeteer's hand. A chattering spider monkey leaps from table to table, picking up the drinks, trying them, then spitting out the liquid and throwing the cups at the dancers. When Giles calls "swing your partner round and round," Buffy moves away, and suddenly Spike's taking Dawn by the arm. They are hurtling around and around each other like tops that can't control their spinning, until they will turn so fast they burn up in the atmosphere, dissipating in a cloud of dust._

 

"Stop turning!" Spike shouted as he was jostled awake.

Fred looked down at him, her face scrunched up in a big wrinkle of worry. "Sorry. I was having trouble waking you and you were saying something in your sleep that sounded like square-dancing words, and you were twitching and you seemed really afraid so I thought it was best to wake you up."

He put his hand on his forehead and sat up. Wes stood behind her, looking dour and concerned. "Bad dream," was all he could manage.

"Square-dancing bad dream?"

" _Weird_ dream." He looked at her bewildered, earnest face and sighed. She really did want to help him, despite all her fears. "Had a lot of them since the change. Sometimes they're more than a little disturbing."

"If I had a dream about square dancing, I'm sure it would disturb me, too." She grinned her cute, shy smile.

"Since you both look like you're going to a funeral, I assume you're here with the results."

Wes sat down in the overstuffed chair. "There are two parts to the bad news, and no real good news, I'm afraid. But Angel said you could handle it."

"Straight up, no ice, no water."

Adjusting his glasses, Wes said "All right then. The first thing is that I've been unable to locate any information about a vampire being turned back to human state successfully. Consequently, there's nothing that could tell us how to turn a human into a vampire other than the usual methods, which would mean loss of soul." His voice went from scholarly to kind. "Even the most ancient books had nothing, I'm afraid. But all that really means is that we need to be creative. And it may involve witchcraft."

Spike leaned back against the headboard. "Only witch powerful enough I've ever heard of is Willow Rosenberg, and trust me, I've just spent enough time with her to know that won't be happening anytime soon."

"I know. Angel told us about all that," Fred said with such disappointment you'd have thought it was happening to her.

"But that's not to rule out anything in the future," Wes added. "Though, that segues rather unpleasantly into the next piece of news."

"Hit me." Might as well make the wounds as clean as possible.

Fred said, clearly trying hard not to sound too scientific, "There are a lot of anomalies in your molecular and cellular structure. The biggest one is that you have no white blood cells. None. That's why the wound on your neck isn't really healing."

Spike reached up instinctually and touched the gauze.

"We can help with that, we have some potions that will heal it nicely," Wes added, "but in the long run, it's indicative of the problem with your entire body. You see, there's a reason you're so hungry all the time \-- your body isn't really _consuming_ food, it's just going in and then... out again. Your body isn't really doing any of the things it's supposed to do the way it should do them -- it's _almost_ doing them, but not quite. The heart, the liver, the kidneys -- they function, but not the way they should. It's as if... as if..."

"I came back wrong."

"Yes," Wes said sadly, "you came back wrong."

He stared at Wes, who just stared forlornly back. "I've seen something like this before."

Wisely, neither Wes nor Fred commented on that, just kept quiet, letting the information sink in. Finally Fred got up the gumption to tell him the last part. "And the scary part is, we don't know how long your body can hold out like this. If it's not processing things like food and water and rest the way a normal body would, then we don't know what the long-term effect could be. It could be like being undead, or maybe not. We were wondering... have you had any cravings for blood since this happened?"

"No. Nothing seems appealing about it. Food tastes good, better than it did when I was a vampire. I always liked real food anyway, but it wasn't the same when you're undead."

"We're thinking maybe you should give it a try. If it doesn't, like, make you yak at the thought of it all."

"I'll take it under advisement." He played with a loose thread in the sheet, and looked up at the two of them. "So, probably I'm dying, one way or another. Either through decrepitude or something misfiring in my system."

"We're not really certain..." Wes responded in a soothing voice, trying ever so hard to be polite and positive. Spike really did like these two, despite all this bad news.

"Well, certain enough." He sighed. "Dunno why I didn't think of it before." They were both looking at him from under their brows, heads down, guilty faces on. Neither had any idea what he was talking about. "The monkey's paw. That's what this is. I got my wishes."

"We don't know--" Wes started to say, but then stopped, realizing, of course, that there was nothing else to deny.

"Reckon it's time I got back to Sunnydale. Make some amends before I," he flicked his fingers out, "make my way to the great beyond." He'd known all along that Sunnydale was the inevitable destination; he'd only hoped that he could get back there in a way that the others could cope with. Buffy would have no real way to order all this, to understand and accept not just the attempt at a soul, but of coming back human. At least they wouldn't have to worry about killing him; nature and the underworld were taking care of that, it seemed.

Angel's team felt guilty, they wanted to help him, but in the back of his mind, Spike had understood all along there wouldn't be true help for him. There never really had been, since the day he'd been turned. If he didn't make the help with his own hands, it would never come.

"You don't have to leave!" Fred cried. "We don't want you to. Things...stuff... this could all change, you know. And we like having you here."

She was a horrid liar, worse than either Willow or Buffy. "Thank you, for everything. I know you tried. But I'm a bit of a gooseberry here, anyway."

"Oh!" Wes said. "We haven't given up. As I said, there may be a way to make the laws work, just not in a manner they have before. But it may take time."

"I'll send on an address once I get back, and if you find anything..."

"Okay. We'll be in touch." Fred leaned forward and hugged him. He was not the least bit used to hugging from anyone, let alone humans, so he just let her squeeze him hard, placing a hand on her elbow. Glad, though, when she let go, because Spike was afraid he might dissolve into tears, and that would make him look even more of an arse than before.

"Suppose I ought to say goodbye to Angel and the gang. Even if the ponce did bite me. You've all been very kind, playing host to a sorry sod like me."

Wes got up and looked sternly at Spike. "Don't give up hope, Spike. There's always hope, I've found, even in the worst situations."

Spike felt shaky and weak, still trying to cope with everything they'd told him but determined not to let his fears show. "I'll try to remember that." He was suddenly very, very hungry.


	5. You Could Be Home Now

Spike walked up the unfinished cul-de-sac, through the woods that skirted the neighborhood, and onto the main road leading out of town. This housing development, Sunny Acres or some other half-assed name like that, made a decent doss. Abandoned probably in the early '80s, from the looks of the barely finished and completely unfinished homes, it reminded him of that strange postwar time in America that had once amused him and Dru so much. Acres and acres of land being quilted into prefab patterns, all trying to lure the expanding middle classes into one new "town" that offered work, home, and play within one storybook place. The billboard signs beckoned to commuters "You could be home now... if you lived in the new Sunny Acres Estates!" He'd sneered at those things then; now he had, because of them, a roof over his head and a place to sleep.

An odd collection of demon types had taken up residence here; none of them dangerous to humans, as if the unspoken code of the neighborhoods was "only easy-going demons need apply." Clem had steered him here when he'd arrived -- it hadn't taken long to realize he couldn't go back to the crypt.

Living life under the radar, now, a soul and a chip (or maybe not; he still wasn't entirely certain about that, though Fred was fairly certain it wasn't active anymore) and his history with everyone in Sunnydale making all of it a necessary charade. As long as _no_ one knew he wasn't a vampire anymore, he felt relatively safe, and even Clem hadn't sussed the new skin he wore. Spike had even landed a job at Willie's, which surprised him, because Willie usually evidenced an impeccable demon spidey sense.

It was all a question of reputation, he'd realized. People didn't look past the image they were already familiar with, they assumed everything stayed the same. Always and forever, that was the human mindset.

It bought him time, at least. Time to figure out what to do, how to start again... not necessarily to get back in touch with Buffy, but at least time to create a sense of proximity. He'd seen her a few times from afar, and it had left Spike shaken and confused. The feelings were still every bit as powerful as before he'd journeyed to Africa, but there was such a miasma of guilt, fear, and demoralization surrounding him that he wasn't sure how to go forward on anything.

Spike had always been a doer, didn't stop to think or worry about consequences. Not being able to take action was frustrating to him; but of course, he tried to remind himself over and over, it was his rashness that had got him here in the first place. As shackled as he felt by this new life, he had to play out the hand.

By the time he'd gone past the cemetery he was so lost in his own little netherworld of future and past agonies that he didn't even see Dawn until they ran straight into each other.

They both screamed "Aiiigh!" and jumped back at the same time, mouths open and eyes wide.

"Spike!" Dawn shouted.

"Dawn!" Spike bellowed at the same time.

"What are you--" they started, and stopped, then tried again. "I'm going--"

They glared at each other. He pointed at her, and she started. "I'm doing some research for Buffy."

"Aren't you little miss Brenda Starr?"

"What?" she snapped.

"Never mind. I'm on my way to... to Willie's."

"Ooookay..." Her face was set hard and it occurred to him with icy force that she was long lost to him, their connection severed when he'd attacked her sister. And there might never be a way to get her back again.

He rubbed his hand over his face. "Oh, Niblet, where do I even start?"

Her posture changed slightly, shoulders dropping and legs bending.

There was something about him, she thought, something defeated and new, a light in his eyes a world away from anything Dawn had seen before. "Why are you... how long have you... we went to see you and Clem said you were gone. No one's heard word one from you since. What's the what?" she demanded. She had a thousand questions, only some related to the night he attacked Buffy. But Dawn knew that wasn't something she could bring up with him; not alone, anyway.

"Long story. Stupid stuff. But lately I was at Giles's, with Willow, and then in LA. Angel and his mob." He looked at her with such sadness , as if his explanation was an apology. Spike had never struck Dawn as the apologetic type, and for a moment, she felt sorry for him.

"How come? Spike, what's going on?" Suddenly it hit her. The sun hadn't set. He was out in the day, the low slanting light of late summer evening still waiting to set him on fire, only he wasn't. On fire, or even smoking. "Hey! Wait a minute!"

Oh crap. She'd rumbled him. Spike had hoped the shock of seeing him might save his neck from the block. "Now, now, it's not what you might think..."

"What might I think?" she asked in a mock English accent. And a very bad one at that.

"That I'm... okay in the light."

"Yet, somehow, you're standing in the freaking sun and you're not on fire. Funny how that leads me to believe something's up." She stuck her hip out, arms crossed over her chest.

"Yeah, well, it's... it's something funny that happened, see, a while ago, and just ... really not a big thing."

He sounded sort of shaky when he talked. Like he was definitely hiding something -- it reminded her a lot of when he was trying to deny that he had the hots for Buffy. Spike was a terrible liar.

"So, you were just going to come back, not tell anyone, be all out in the sunny guy, and we weren't ever going to know?"

With his head tilted sideways, he narrowed his eyes at her and sighed. "You tell me -- did you really want to see me? Any of you?"

Tricky the way he talked about the whole gang instead of just Buffy. She knew that Buffy was all he ever really thought about. Probably never gave a single minute's consideration to her feelings when he'd hurt Buffy, because he was so busy being a stupid vampire with his take-what-I-want, when-I-want 'tude.

When she didn't answer, he shook his head. "Truth is, I had nowhere else to go; no place as demon-friendly as Sunnydale, so I dragged my whupped arse back here because I'd no idea what else to do. Seeing any of you wasn't part of the plan, because I reckoned you'd all be ready for Spike flambe if you ever got a glimpse of my kisser. Why do you think I'm living all the way out here in Paradise Place?"

Nothing she could say to that, unfortunately. Dawn didn't hate him, precisely, it was the sort of low-level irritation, that betrayed burned feeling that comes from being... well, burned by someone you loved. But you couldn't really tell Spike you loved him; not normal people anyway. She'd tried once, after Buffy had died and he'd been with her all night when she was really sick with some kind of food poisoning. All through it, waiting for Will to come home and fix it, Spike had sat by her side, never making her feel like a disgusting creep for all the puking. So she'd tried to tell him then, that she loved him and was glad he was a part of her life, especially when there was no Buffy in it. She'd explained how much it meant to her that he'd stuck around long after he probably wanted to, just because he cared. But the moment she'd said the big three words, he'd given her that cranky vampire look, the one she knew all too well from before they'd become friends.

He put his hands in his pockets. "I have to go, Dawn. But... will you keep it between us, that you saw me?"

"Not unless you tell me why you're not toast." It was easy to freak him out, sometimes, if you played the Buffy card. He cared too much what she thought about every little thing. And if it was a spell of some kind, they'd need to know about it. Now that she was research gal, info gathering was always at the top of her mind.

The gears were turning in his head. He squinched his eyes, and then glanced to the left and the right, like he was looking for an escape route. "You have to swear not to tell."

"I swear, but only if you tell me what's up." Dawn held up three fingers; she wasn't sure what for, but it seemed like an honesty thing.

It made her jump when he held his arm out, and she didn't get it at first. Then he took her hand, and put her fingers on his wrist. Like... feeling for his pulse. And weirdly, there was one. An actual pulse, in his wrist.

He felt a certain satisfaction in watching her jaw drop and her eyes widen like a scared horse. At least this shock hadn't come with a vampire bite, though.

"How..." poor kid couldn't even finish, she was so frightened. Probably had been hard enough growing up with vampires and demons and a slayer sister, let alone getting hit with the gobsmacking revelation that vampires could become human. Well, one, at least.

"Like I said, long, stupid story. I'm actually... I wanted to make it right, with your sis and all. But then other things happened." Her discomfort was palpable. Everything she'd have decided in the missing months in between would now be heading right into the toilet. Her picture of Spike the villain suddenly had a tear in it. "Look, Luv, I have to go now. Maybe... maybe one of these days it'll be safe and I can tell you the tale, eh?"

Her intrigue and well-honed annoyance warred with each other. Posture changed again, the surprise replaced with a furrowed-brow anger. She'd wanted to believe so many things about him, but he rained on her parade. He bolted, as much to get a handle on his own rollercoaster emotions as anything. More questions, and he wouldn't be able to keep his resolve to stay away.

 

 

After a couple of days spent wondering if she'd told anyone despite the promise, he finally felt free and clear. TillHarris walked in to Willie's, anyway. Spike was carrying in two crates of whiskey -- before, they would have been light as a feather, but now they were harder to move than a body -- when he spied Xander leaning over the bar, lamely attempting to intimidate the bartender, a jaded old Garoth demon called Steve. Even vampires couldn't intimidate Steve. Harris was doing the tough-guy talking with predictably lackluster results, and then turned to look at Spike as he entered, then turned back to Steve, and then did a doubletake back at Spike. For a moment, Spike couldn't decide what to do -- drop the crates and leg it, or just keep working, business as usual. But Harris decided for him.

"Spike?" he bellowed across the bar. "Spike!" Spike set the crates down at the foot of the counter and dusted off his hands.

"Keep your voice down, mate. No need to deafen everyone on the premises."

Xander looked around incredulously at the completely empty bar. "What the hell are you doing here?" He glanced down at the crates, then up at Spike. So, clearly he wasn't here because Dawn had spilled the beans. "Are you... are you _working_?"

"What's it to you?" Spike aked, pouring himself a pint. The only real perk about working here. Demon bars, by their very nature, didn't have a lot of rules, which suited Spike fine even in his post-soul lifestyle.

"What's it to _me_?" Harris exclaimed incredulously. "How about starting with what _you_ did to Buffy?"

Uh-oh. Slayers were not a popular topic round here, unless you intended to kill one of them. Spike gestured at Xander with two fingers. Steve rolled his eyes, threw the bar towel down on the counter, and slid out the back door to the alley.

"I don't even know where to start!" Xander shouted. People seemed to be saying that to him a lot these days.

"Oh, allow me to do it for you. I've a lot of nerve, coming back here like this, after everything I did to Buffy. And what's with the working at Willie's? Why didn't I tell anyone I was back, so I could take my whipping like a man?" He took a long drink. "I get most of that right?"

No fair. Spike had taken all the righteous wind out of his sails. Reason 3,145 to hate the undead little bastard. Buffy was going to freak when she found out he was here and acting like nothing had happened. Xander opened his mouth a couple times, then closed it. "Well, yeah. I guess that's pretty much it."

"Fine. Tell you what, how about you just accept that I'd nowhere else to go, I needed the money, and you want to take me on, go right ahead because there's not a bloody thing I can do to stop you, eh?"

It was really annoying to actually feel something like sympathy for the guy, but the way he rattled off all that stuff and the weird look on his face made Xander feel slightly less than hostile for the first time in memory. He thought briefly about calling Buffy on the cell, but then he just pulled out a bar stool and sat down, chin in hands.

"I really ought to stake you." Thinking about it left him slightly wistful.

"You and everyone else in town. Back of the line, mate."

"I wish you'd stop calling me that. I'm not your mate or your pal or your bud or anything. I hate you."

"Course you do. Doesn't everyone."

The fact that he said it without making it a question made Xander nervous. Whenever Spike got maudlin and suicidal, really bad things happened. They were all finally getting on with something resembling a decent life -- the last thing he wanted was for more bad things to happen, Sunnydale-style.

"Why are you here, anyway? No one wants you here."

Xander scowled. "Research for Buffy."

"What kind of research?" Spike asked him.

"Oh... Buffy's been having these dreams..." He wondered how much he should say about Buffy to Stalker-boy.

"Slayer dreams?"

"Kinda. She keeps seeing other slayers get killed. And she thinks that it's connected with a couple of disappearances around here."

"So now you're, what? Errand boy? Thought you were busy playing construction worker in the Village People."

"Har har." Spike made a funny face at him, and then he poured another pint, sliding it down the bar toward him, just like in the movies. As he reached to stop it, the beer sloshed over on his hand. He made a point of shaking the beer off his hand, frowning at Spike, but thanked him anyway. "The nice thing about my job is that I can still kinda help Buffy out when I'm not working. And there's not a lot else to do around Sunnydale, anyway, if you're not doing demon stuff."

"Don't I know it."

Every time Spike acted average and conversational, it made Xander think that some kind of spell of Will's had gone wrong or something. It just wasn't part of the whole mental picture you got for William the Bloody.

"So, look, what I said before. Why _are_ you here? We heard you left town, and that seemed like a pretty good idea to stay gone, you know? After everything you did... a lot of us want you not here. Not, I mean, here here as in Willie's, but Sunnydale. Or hell, all of southern California."

Spike rolled his eyes and took another drink. "My life is my life. I stay away from you and your little gang, so what difference does it make where I set up shop?" Spike thought about telling the gormless twat that he had seen Giles and Willow, and how friendly they all were now, but he realized that would be pointless. Harris was like a dog with a fucking great bone once he got hold of some notion, and far be it from Spike to spoil the pleasure of his beliefs about everything that had happened.

"You're not even going to apologize or anything?" Strangely, his voice sounded more wheedling than angry or accusatory.

"I already tried. You tell me how a person can apologize for all of that -- and I don't think Buffy's going to be getting all contrite about her behavior, either."

Xander played with the wet ring the beer glass left, drawing little starburst patterns. "She's changed. A lot."

"Yeah, heard that one before."

"What the hell, Spike? I mean, where do you get off being all superior? You tried to rape her, for god's sake!"

Spike just scowled at him. So the good Spike routine didn't work, might as well trot out the bad Spike act again. "You know, Angel told me a story once. 'bout you getting possessed by a jackal or jackally demon or something. Turning on your friends and trying to ... let me see. What was it? Rape Buffy? Only she kicked your wussy little arse. Now, admittedly he heard the story from someone else -- Buffy, I presume -- but still, it left me with a warm, fuzzy, smug feeling."

Xander sat up straighter, blinking. Spike relished the ability to score such a direct hit so easily one always got with Xander.

"Well, you heard that wrong."

"Yeah, very convincing with the voice breaking, there."

"What do you want, Spike?"

"I want you to leave me the fuck alone, is what I want. I want you to stop with the holier than thou routine just because you're graced with humanity and I'm a vampire. And I want you to keep your gob shut about seeing me and leave Buffy alone."

Then, weirdly, Spike poured him another beer. And came around the bar and sat down beside him. There were times Xander thought he and Spike had the weirdest relationship of any two creatures in the history of the planet. It was like you could hate him with the white hot fury of a thousand suns, and yet when the guy acted normal around you, you just slid into the whole buddy-like thing.

"How is she, anyway?"

"You really haven't seen her?"

"Couple times, from afar. With Dawnie. But that was it, and I _wasn't_ looking for her."

"She's good. Really, she's... she's happy again. Much as she can be with being a slayer and all."

"Yeah." Spike raised his glass and said, "Cheers." Xander did the same.

"Anya's a vengeance demon again. Or did you know that?"

"Yeah. She was... well."

"Don't expect me to forgive you for that." Xander tried for the cold fury, but he didn't think it came out that tough. He really wished he could perfect that tough guy thing that Spike and Angel had done so well, but it probably only came with the demon package, and he would prefer to pass that opportunity up.

"Not asking you to. Not yours to forgive. You left the poor bint at the fucking altar, you stupid cunt."He took a drink and Xander boggled in his direction. He'd said it so conversationally it was like they were just talking about the weather.

"Hey! Things happened that you could never possibly understand. And then you swooped in while she was vulnerable and took total advantage of the situation. Like the evil, disgusting thing you are!" He hated it when his voice got like this, all high-pitched and reedy. Plus, he wasn't so hot with the wounding verbal wordplay. Somehow, no matter how much he wanted to rise above, Xander always got sucked into these stupid arguments with Spike. He wanted to be the better man, the cooler head prevailing against the infantile vampire, yet somehow he ended up like a stupid little kid with a totally lame vocabulary. Spike had all those cool English insults, too.

"You dragged her along for how many years on the promise that you could grow up and do the right thing, the thing she'd been dreaming about since she became human. You have no understanding of what that means, to be turned human again after all that time, to lose everything you thought you were. And there she thought her knight in shining armor rode, you with your moldy cellar and your pizza delivery jobs and your selfish, thoughtless intolerance of her past. Yet still she loved you, you stupid, worthless git. And you left her when she thought you loved her most, on what she hoped would be the happiest day of her life."

A wave of resentment and hopelessness overcame Xander as he listened to Spike spit out the litany of his failures. He wanted to be full of righteous indignation, and yet he couldn't.

Spike narrowed his eyes, and said, "So after all you did to her, you want to throw down on me now because I bonked the woman you always thought you loved, and the one you had and threw away like she was yesterday's rubbish? Well, have a go. There's nothing stopping you, is there?"

Xander sputtered, "Screw you."

"Oh stop. You're killing me with the clever retorts."

Xander got up off the bar stool, an itch in his palms, thinking he could break the stool and then finally stake this parasite once and for all. But even with the chip, there was something about Spike that still scared him.

With weariness, Spike said, "Your demons aren't here, and no one has any information on them, so how 'bout you go. We'll pretend we never saw each other."

Xander went as he'd asked. But he turned to Spike with an odd look on his face, resigned and hopeless, as if he believed everything Spike said, and Spike had a twinge of guilt. Wasn't it bad enough to have come back wrong, and be slowly dying, without having to throw things like guilt and remorse into the mix?

"You know, Buffy doesn't hate you. I don't know why, I think she's crazy, but she doesn't hate you. It's just the rest of us who would like to see you gutted and fried on a spit. She'd probably be glad to know you're okay."

Spike shrugged, more touched by the gesture than he wanted to be. It must have taken a lot out of the boy to say that.

"Too much of the past. Sometimes, there's no future with that much past."

"Suit yourself, man."

Spike turned back to the bar, and began stocking the glasses.

 

 

They all looked so happy. Almost unscarred. Buffy most of all -- skinnier than ever, but glowing, as if none of the events of the past year had occurred at all.

Spike watched them through the window, the golden glow of the living room casting its familial light across the front lawn. He stood behind his old tree, watching them all, feeling as sad and lost as they appeared happy and warm. What would it be like when Willow came back, though, he wondered. If Anya had been there? Somehow Harris, Buffy, and Dawn had made themselves a little family. Did they think about those they were missing?

He wasn't going in. The moment he'd set foot in the garden he'd known he couldn't do it, despite Harris's proclamations that it wouldn't be as bad as he expected. Taking a deep breath, Spike walked away from the window, the sense of finality settling on his shoulders like a weight.

It would have been smarter to stay in LA, or hell, even back in Bath. At least he could have died his slow, winding death with people who were friendly, who made a pretense of caring. But he believed his friendship with Willow was real. In LA Angel would have looked out for him, and Wes and Fred would have tried to comfort him as things fell apart. Here, he was alone again, naturally.

Lately he'd thought about that dream, the one he'd had in Bath where Tara had shown him the light, had shown Willow. He constantly struggled with the meaning of it, with all the strange dreams and waking visions he'd had since he got the humanity back. Especially the words Tara had spoken to him -- even the devil was an angel once. Sometimes he thought it meant he was supposed to have stayed with Angel till the bitter end; other times he wondered if he was the devil, now an angel again. Why did those fucking cunts The Powers That Be have to be so bleeding cryptic about their goals?

He was about two blocks from the Summers house when suddenly he was knocked off his feet by something brown. His head hit a parked car, and his body crumpled against the wheel as the thing tried to get a grip on him. Spike stumbled to his feet and started blindly kicking at the evil little creature. A robe. A monk's robe. It leapt up and started thumping on him, so Spike slid out from under and he made a run for the pile of construction materials on someone's front lawn over to the right, hoping there might be something nicely hefty and deadly in there. But the thing grabbed him from behind, pulling him down, and then Spike pivoted to see its face, or at least, a facsimile of a face. Eyes and mouth sewn shut to make the creepiest, most disgusting thing he'd ever seen in his life of creepy disgusting things. He fumbled behind him as the mad monk raised a dagger of enormous, disturbing proportions, and managed to bring up a cinderblock to blunt the impact of the dagger. Didn't stop the thing, though, as it leapt forward and tried once more. Scrambling, Spike crawled backwards like a crab, but then abruptly the being's head went flying off to the side in the opposite direction of his body, which crumpled to the ground.

Behind it stood Buffy, axe in hand. She offered her other hand to Spike, and helped pull him up.

"Friend of yours?"

"Not precisely, no." How could she act so casually? She gazed up at him with something like... a look of happiness on her face. As if she was happy to see him, only of course that couldn't be.

"I thought maybe that's why you were letting it kick your ass like that."

He stared at her, desperately attempting not to look the whipped puppy, waiting for her rage to boil over and for all the resentment and anger to come pouring out. Instead she hefted the axe and said, "I saw you sneaking away. You could have come in, you know. Kind of a lot to talk about."

Spike was speechless. She swung the axe up over her shoulder and poked her toe at the head, which rolled over, exhibiting the non-existent eyes and mouth. Buffy grimaced, looked casually at Spike, and said with her old perkiness, "Ew!"

Hell and damnation. All this time and he'd thought maybe he'd fallen out of love. Of course it couldn't be that easy.


	6. Secrets and Lies

I said I love you years ago  
Tell myself you never loved me, no

 

They sat in a dingy Denny's in a large corner booth, talking between desultory attempts at eating their meals. Mostly Buffy played with her food, while Spike fidgeted with the desire to smoke again and an overwhelming urge to run away from Buffy's scrutinizing gaze.

"I guess, the truth is," she said, carefully not looking at his eyes, "I never expected you to come back, or if you did, that you wouldn't, you know, hide." Buffy dunked her straw in the iced tea and pulled it up, dropping tea back in the glass, over and over. Even in the ugly fluorescent light and orange leatherette seating of the Denny's, she still looked so lovely.

"Well, me neither. About that hiding thing, I mean." He pushed his fries around on the plate. The eating thing seemed pointless these days, even though he was still always hungry. After what Wes and Fred had told him, there didn't seem to be much purpose in trying to stay alive; however, she'd suss something was up if he didn't at least nibble a bit of the French dip sandwich, and especially the fries. She knew his propensity for deep-fried things all too well. "Are you... disappointed, though, that I did come back?"

"No. I don't... it's not... it would be great if it was that simple. You know?" She shrugged.

"Yeah."

They'd talked around it on the way here, avoided it during the meal, but now it was the elephant in the room and he thought he might go off his nut if she kept pretending they were on friendly terms.

"So, do you want to come back to the house with me? Dawn should see you. She's got a lot of issues to work out and the whole confronty thing is good when you have issues." Clearly someone had been studying their self-help lessons. _Chapter One: Running away from conflict will only lead to more._

"Uh." He fumbled around in the useless compartments of his brain where he'd previously kept snappy remarks, but, finding nothing, just stared at her. Buffy spread her hands wide and raised her eyebrows. In the old days, she'd have just thumped him when she wanted to know the rest instead of this. "Well, actually... Dawn's already seen me. No issues worked out, but we ran into each other the other day."

Tea went splat on the table in a big puddle. "Oh, she is dead as a dead thing when I get hold of her."

"I asked her to keep her gob shut. Didn't want the news to upset you."

Buffy pursed her lips and looked down at the table. "I keep telling you, it's not as all bad-newsy as you think it is. I had a lot of time to think about stuff. About the back and forthing. We had a lot of bad back and forthing, you know? But... I can be friends with Will and she tried to kill me and Dawn, and... so, you know, I can be friends with you. Just takes some time and thinking." _Chapter Two: Forgiveness takes time and thinking._

Aye, there's the rub, he thought ruefully. Had they really been friends before?

"But the thing is, first rule of friendship? You don't hide things from said friends." Her hostile look for added punctuation was still pretty cute and not the least bit worrying.

"You were friends with Willow before things went bad. There's a big difference there, Slayer."

"You were my friend, too. I just didn't know how to have a friend then. Things are different now, and I think that you should come to the house, at least to keep me from beating my little sister."

"Yeah, well... It might be best to tell you this, then. I ran into Harris, too."

She closed her eyes, trying to get hold of the temper she'd promised herself she wouldn't lose. So everyone in town had seen Spike, but no one had thought to tell her? As if that was a chapter of her life she'd just forgotten, as quickly and easily as she changed her underwear?

"Is there anyone you haven't run into?" Just for effect, she speared a fry with her fork, really really hard.

"Uh, no. Not here at least. But anyway, why were you sending the both of them out to do research or whatever it was they were about? What's going on?"

"Uh-uh." Buffy wagged a scolding finger. "No changing of subjects."

"What was our subject? I hadn't realized we had one as we seem to be caroming about like conversational pinballs."

"Friendship. Coming back to the house." She remembered how she'd found him. "That guy with the ooky eyes and mouth you were fighting. I think they're what Xander and Dawn were trying to find out about."

"I wouldn't call it fighting, precisely, more like getting my arse kicked."

"Yeah, and what's up with that?" She'd never seen Spike so nervous and scared before; none of the love of the fight she'd known all these years. For a moment she wondered if it could have to do with the bathroom, as if he'd decided to stop fighting after he'd tried to hurt her, but she had a tough time believing that. Sometimes Spike was a mystery to her, but the one thing she knew for certain was that if he screwed up, he would try to fix it -- not take the passive approach and just try to pretend it hadn't happened or he wasn't that kind of guy.

"Long story."

"I've got time."

"Not really. You have a job, I hear. School night and all."

"It's Saturday, not Sunday, you idiot, but... " He was really bad at avoiding things. But she supposed he'd never really had to do that before.

"But nothing. I'll walk you home. Cheers on the job, by the way."

"Thanks." She actually blushed, but had no idea why. "You'll walk me home and come in and tell me about whatever you're not telling me."

"Buffy..." Sometimes when he said her name, it made her stomach get all clenchy, both happy and sad feelings. She didn't want to think about that night, or feel like she could never shed the image of the last time she'd seen him. Buffy wanted to move past that, to be the kind of girl who moves on from things. But nothing about their relationship, from the moment she'd first seen him in that alley behind the Bronze, was ever simple. They had history, no matter what. Things were way too complicated to just say, "never darken my doorstep again," and she hated the thought that he might not stick around, at least to be her friend, and Dawn's. There was something necessary about Spike, she'd come to realize in his lengthy absence, something that, good or bad, reminded her she was alive. Before, she'd tried to hurt him for that; now all she wanted was to start over and erase the chalkboard. Write new instructions.

But she wasn't sure Spike wanted to. He acted as if he was all grown up in a weird way, not the hyper-emotional, childish guy she'd come to care about. That childish quality had actually been part of what she liked about him, and now he was all somber and reasonable. Kind of almost Gilesy, and that was a creepy thought. And maybe time had erased whatever feelings he'd once had for her in that melodramatic, over the top way -- what if maturity and reason had turned him away from her? If he'd lost his melodrama, maybe life with a slayer wouldn't seem quite so appealing. For some reason, Buffy did not like that thought. She'd have to think more about it later. If it was one of those cosmic "careful what you wish for" deals, she'd be having some words with the Powers That Be.

"You know, we have all this crap just sitting here between us. I'm not saying it's all going to be tiptoeing through the tulips, but unless we say stuff, it's never gonna go away. I'm new to this job, this counseling thing, but I've learned really fast that if people don't actually tell you what they're thinking, then you can never really talk to them."

"When did you get to be so wise?" She was pretty sure he was mocking her, except that he sounded really sincere.

"I had my heart broken and I lost my mom and I died and was resurrected and did some really terrible things and survived some terrible things done to me and my friends. Wisdom is one of the party favors you get."

"Free gift with purchase." He paused. "What does that mean, anyway? Isn't a gift free by nature?"

"I don't know. I got the 'death is your gift' thing and it sure didn't come for free! No customer service people to gripe to, though."

He raised an eyebrow and nodded. She could tell he wanted to say something possibly deep and serious, but he was having a tough time. Not that this was easy for her, but knowing how emotional Spike was, he must have been having a mental spazz attack about how easygoing they were together. In his mind he'd probably been making this into a huge Thing, and if she wasn't going along with its Thingness, he wouldn't know what to do.

Spike paid the tab and opened the door for her in that courtly way he had. But there was something funny in his interactions with others these days, all the in-your-face stuff was gone and he seemed somehow almost normal, person-like in ways she couldn't put her finger on. He remained silent as they walked back to her house; Spike with his hands in his jacket pocket, looking around the neighborhood as if he'd never seen it before, and Buffy with her arms drawn across her chest.

When they were halfway there, Buffy remembered the thing she'd killed earlier and the axe she'd stashed. "Um, would you mind if we took a detour?"

"To where?" Spike appeared suspicious, as if he thought she was asking for something untoward. He'd already forgotten everything, which was kind of weird.

"That guy... thing... creature whatever we killed earlier? I hate to say this, but it might be a good idea to get his... head. Plus, it's a perfectly good axe."

" _You_ killed. I need hardly remind you yet again that I was not standing fast against it."

"I'm sure you'd have gotten him on a normal day."

Spike rolled his eyes and snorted.

"Well, anyway, since we've been looking for one of these things, maybe we can find out more about it if we have, you know, the head." She winced at the disgusting nature of her job once again. Spike gave her a quick sideways glance, and then grinned. What a weird date-like evening this was turning out to be. There weren't many people, though, she could talk about axes and heads with who would understand.

"Who could resist the offer to pick up disengaged heads with you? Besides, wouldn't want you to lose your precious axe."

Buffy smiled. It felt kind of good to be smiling at him, to have him acting all lighthearted again. This was the Spike who'd been able to draw her feelings back from the dark places where she'd pushed them.

Except that when they got there the head was nowhere to be found, nor the body. They'd shoved it somewhat untidily under a big hedge that was pretty untidy itself, figuring that if no one took care of the shrubbery, no one would notice the body or the head. But now there was nothing. "I'm sure it was here," she said.

"It was." Spike frowned. "Look, there's... blood or something. It was here. Someone took it away."

She kicked at the shrub. "Damn, that means it has a posse."

"A crew, even."

"An entourage." She dug around and came up with the axe. "So now what do we do?"

"Well, I can probably draw it from memory, and then we can get cracking on the research."

Trying very hard no to let slip how happy that made her, Buffy just looked up at him and said, "I like that you said we. It's been too long since you helped out. Since I let you."

He shrugged and started off down the street. It was just too weird to have her be so welcoming and open to him after everything. In some ways, punishment and rejection might have been easier to take than this kindness. He was starting to understand what Willow was on about.

"So, you can draw?"

"Yeah. Don't you remember those pictures that annoyed you so much you'd found in my crypt?"

Her face colored red.

"That's the thing about being around for over a century -- gives you time to pick up hobbies or expand upon your god-given talents."

"Angel used to draw, really beautifully."

"I'm better." He enjoyed the look she spared him, mocking and smirky and glowing all at the same time. The Buffy most of them never got to see.

"So what is all the hugger-mugger about, anyway? Harris said you had been having dreams or something. Were these blokes in the dreams?"

"Yeah. They've been killing potential slayers. At least I think they're potential slayers. They say things to me that lead me to believe it. And these guys in monk-robes are after them. Chasing them and killing them. Creepy dreams. Kinda scary. And I think I recognize these guys, but I can't remember where. If they _are_ guys, I mean. Maybe there's just this one."

"Sure, and a neighbor's cat came and moved the body."

"Well, I never said it made sense." Suddenly she drew back and stopped walking. The light bulb over her head was nearly visible. "Hey, where _exactly_ did you see Xander, anyway?"

"Willie's. Where I'd be right now if I hadn't seen you, pulling an extra shift."

"You're _working_ at _Willie's_? You have _so_ got to be kidding me." Buffy put her hands on her head, as if this was all too much to bear. The axe swung perilously close to his ear.

"Look, what else am I going to do with my spare time? Of which I have copious amounts, and I can't kill humans, and and and." For a moment he was so into it that he almost forgot his condition.

They got to Buffy's front door and she stood there for a second, hand on the doorknob. "I get that. I'm just... this is all a lot to take in. You've changed a lot."

"No joke. You think there's not some spastic little man waving his arms about screaming inside my brain right now at all of this? How casually you're treating everything?" He leaned against the wall, gazing down at her while she considered it.

"I demand that you come in and at least say hi to Dawn."

"Slayer... we've had a lot of water go flowing under the bridge tonight. Maybe we should give it a rest, eh?"

"Nuh-uh. I have laundry and dishes and stuff to do, you can keep her company." She stepped inside and Spike heaved a great sigh, following. Here she was, expecting the vampire who'd tried to rape her to come into her house and hang with her kid sister. Really, could you ever predict what this peculiar girl would do?

Dawn came flying down the stairs, already in mid-sentence. " --so I asked Janice about the-- " she stopped, her mouth open, halfway down. "Spike," she squeaked.

"Hey, Niblet."

"Do -- Ar -- What are you doing here?"

"It's all right, she knows." He jerked his chin in Buffy's direction.

"Well, duh. She's standing right next to you."

"No, I mean, she knows you saw me."

"Oh! And... what else does she know?"

Buffy scowled. "There's more to know?"

"No!" Dawn answered as she got the main floor. "Just that, like, I agreed not to spill. And I don't want to get in trouble for keeping secrets that other people demand I keep." She pursed her lips and challenged Spike with her glare.

He stared at the ceiling. While this was annoying to some degree, it was also incredibly charming. Warming, maybe, was the right word.

"Do you want something to drink?" Buffy asked.

"Sure." Though he wasn't entirely certain whether she was asking about blood or just something in a can.

He followed her into the kitchen and they stood there awkwardly, as if whatever glue had kept them easy and together through the evening had worn away. "Buffy..." he began, but she shoved her hand up. _Stop, in the name of love._

"Don't."

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"Yes, I do. You were going to say that this is too weird and you shouldn't be here blah blah." Dawn came in just then and grabbed a bag of popcorn out of the microwave. That was strange -- he should have noticed the smell, but he didn't. It made Spike wonder if things were already starting to break down the way Wes had said they would.

She looked at them both with unease, then backed out slowly.

"Don't you think it's a valid concern, though?"

"Spike, look. I'm not so good with this stuff, I don't like to get all touchy-feely about things, but... like you said, I have some wisdom now. Not a lot, maybe, but enough to know that all the crap in the past is just that. It's crap in the past. It took me a while to figure it out, but we both did some pretty unspeakable things to each other and used sex as a weapon and I don't think there's any big moral high ground here anymore. It's not like I'm not going to be looking at you and wondering if you're not going to go all crazed vampire again, but... I learned something really important from Giles, and that's that love and forgiveness can change everything. That's how he beat the darkness in Willow, with feelings like that. And it was a great lesson, you know? Because we all have that dark stuff inside of us. I just didn't know it at the time... with you and me, or may be I just didn't want to believe it. So I'm all about the forgiveness these days."

He thought about what having this soul again after all this time meant \-- maybe it was about forgiveness. Empathy and understanding and forgiving weren't exactly part of the vampire character set. "You know, it's funny, Will didn't want to believe that, about the darkness... What?" Buffy was staring at him, open-mouthed.

"You saw Willow?" she shouted. Crap. Big mouth strikes again.

"I... yeah. In England. When I was gone. And Giles. I saw Giles too, stayed with them for a bit."

She clutched her head. "Is there _ANY_ one you haven't seen already? Why am I the last to know about this? What is going on around here?"

All the progress they'd made tonight appeared to be evaporating before his eyes. "Uh... I suppose I ought to tell you that I met Angel's crew when I visited him as well. Buffy, I was gone for rather a long time. I had things to sort out and it took me on a few journeys. It's nothing personal." Which, of course, was a bloody joke because it was all about her and always had been.

"Oh my GOD!" She waved a hand melodramatically and knocked a candlestick off the counter, which Spike caught in mid-air. He carefully put it back in the holder and frowned.

He'd never heard her shout so much and wasn't completely clear on just why she was shouting. It seemed especially odd that his travels would make a difference to her, unless she was afraid of him telling everyone about what happened.

"Why does this upset you so much?"

"Because! Because everyone else gets to know that you're okay and haven't gone off and staked yourself except me, and I'm the one doing all the worrying but everyone keeps it all a secret."

"I think they assumed it would be better, after everything that happened. I doubt anyone expected you to forgive me."

Instead of agreeing with him, she only scowled. "Well, they don't know me, then. I never said I wanted you to be drinking holy water or something. That was their interpretation. Geez."

"Maybe that was the right one, though. Maybe you should have been thinking about giving me a holy water bath or tossing flaming crosses my way. You can hardly blame them for thinking that and wondering why you didn't."

"Okay, I hereby declare a moratorium on all discussions of this anymore. You're back, you're okay, I'm okay, and that's that. Understood?"

"Sir, yes sir."

Buffy pinched the bridge of her nose in a very Giles-like way. "Is there anything else you haven't told me? Anything at all? Anyone? Anyone?"

"No, that would pretty much cover it. Except for one really big thing which I am not prepared to talk about right now and -- " he pointed a warning finger at her as she started to open her mouth " -- I will tell you when the time comes but I need to think about it." Again she began to say something and he shushed her harshly. "Let me figure out how." She really was the most stubborn girl. Why was he so drawn to such infuriating women?

Since he wouldn't let her complain, she just huffed and glared at him.

"Besides, all these visits with everyone you haven't heard about are all related, so... I'll tell you when the time comes. And now I really am going."

Dawn was standing near the kitchen, obviously having listened to everything. She flounced over to the sofa, though, pretending he hadn't caught her.

"So, if you two are yelling at each other, things must be back to normal."

"I reckon so."

Dawn put the back of her hand to her forehead. "I know there's all this massive anguish and we're all scarred for life and people do some pretty crappy things to people they say they love and all. I mean, she explained it to me, and I don't wanna know about the rough sex stuff and the whole taking her issues out on you and you letting her thing, because, man, freak city. But she missed you. I know that much."

"Yeah?" Somehow having Dawn say it made it feel different. "And what about you?"

"Don't push me. I'm still a young teenager. I have things to work through."

"Right. Scarred for life." He started for the door.

"There's cartoons." Dawn glared at him when she said it, but it was clearly an invitation as she sat down on one side of the sofa, leaving a spot for him. "Adult Swim, you'll like it. Snarky cartoons for snarky grown-ups. Especially Harvey Birdman. Just your cup of tea with all that weird non-sequitury Brit-type humor."

He plopped down and glanced over at her. Her eyes were intent on the screen, but he could see the faint ghost of a smile on her lips. Then she passed him the popcorn bowl and shouted toward the kitchen, "Buffy, bring him a pop."

_Chapter Three: Reconciliation is made through even the smallest of gestures._

 

 _He sees thousands of them, maybe hundreds of thousands. Vampires from the darkest age seething below like maggots. But it's the one in front of him that's got his attention, the one carving patterns in his chest with claws like an eagle's. Spike has little blood left to spare but still this ancient demon carves on him while Dru cavorts in the background singing her little dolly songs. Or, no, maybe it's Glory. Sometimes he thinks he sees Buffy. It's not clear in his head. He doesn't even know why they're torturing him, but they act like it's a party and he is their special guest._ If ever I needed the witch now _, he thinks, but then wonders if the witch still even exists in this world if it's been taken over by so many ancient vampires. A dagger gleams, Drusilla giggles, and then he feels it plunged inside his chest just like carving into a steak. He asks for Buffy before they cut out his heart, but she doesn't answer._

 

Buffy came down the stairs to find them lying there, heads lolling on the back of the couch, facing toward each other as if they'd fallen asleep in mid-conversation. This would not have surprised her, since Spike had actually done that on a few occasions with her, when they were worn out by lust. However, Dawn was snoring.

 _I really am a bad mom substitute, letting her stay up this late with a guy who once tried to rape me. A vampire._ What will Xander think when he realizes she's made Spike welcome in her life again? Oh, the humanity, oh, the conniptions. But it was so nice to see them like that again after all this time. The Spike who'd become her friend in the least likely way.

Spike still had a can of pop in his hand; she went over to get it so he could sleep more comfortably, and also, so she wouldn't have to clean Pepsi out of the cushions tomorrow morning.

In sleep he twitched and jerked, an animal dreaming. For a moment, so close to him, Buffy almost thought he was warm and alive, something radiated from him like body heat. She took the can out of his hand and held his wrist for a second, but then he muttered, " --om beneath you... devours," and shifted position. She stood back, blinking. That was definitely familiar. Exactly what one of the slayers in her dream said.

And if she wasn't mistaken, Spike's hand was warm and his wrist had a pulse.


	7. A Whiter Shade of Pale

Every time you were expecting to reach out and forgive this  
I was hardened by the look upon your face

 

Dawn and Xander sat huddled in the bathroom, their gazes roaming around the room, as if by avoiding looking at each other they might be able to pretend they weren't huddled in the bathroom, hiding from Buffy and Spike.

It had been bad enough that Buffy had called Xander in the middle of the night, waking him out of a really great dream about the Coors beer twins and some chocolate Reddi-Wip. But then to have to come over in the cold moist night, get whupped upside the head with the fact that Spike was _human_ , and then have Buffy shouting and hurling things, was all just a little too much to take. He didn't even truly understand why she'd called other than that she wanted someone to share her outrage in the fact that Spike was human and that Dawn had known -- and was keeping it secret, as well.

When he'd arrived, she hadn't even greeted him, just bellowed that Spike was human, to which Xander had only been able to reply, "What? He's what? Why?" in that shrieky small voice he got when he was well and truly wigged out. Spike had kind of flinched, as though he'd already been lashed with the Wrath of Buffy a few hundred times. He kept glancing off to the side while Buffy told Xander the story as far as she knew it, and then bullied Spike into telling the rest. They'd all stood there speechless while he laid out the rest of story, complete with visit to Giles and Willow (prompting a "Giles! Willow? No fair!" from Xander), and Angel and Wesley (prompting an "Angel! Wes?" from Buffy), and then they had all sat down on the couch together, plomp, while Spike stood facing them from behind the coffee table, head bowed and little shaky, like some guy who hated public speaking.

And that's when Buffy had started throwing things around, not directly at Spike but close enough -- books, tchotchkes, food, basically anything she could get her hands on. "Oh god, here we go with the acting out," Dawn had said, rolling her eyes, which made Xander want to challenge exactly what that meant and ask had she been watching too much Oprah or something.

"It's all subliminal," Dawn insisted.

"I think you mean subconscious," Xander had remarked, in between shouts from Buffy of what a cruel selfish non-disclosing jerk Spike was.

"I think you're both a couple of witless prats," Spike had said from behind his arms, which were covering his face to ward off blows from flying objects. "For god's sake, help me out here."

Xander had calmed Buffy down just long enough for her to excoriate all of them for keeping something so gigantically important from her, whereupon she recommenced stomping around and shouting about the injustice and the deception and how she didn't have any say in the matter and yet people were messing with her life and turning human when they weren't supposed to. Xander had never actually seen this; Giles had told him once of a couple of good throwing fits, but mostly when Buffy got pissed, she stood and glared at you with her arms crossed, giving you that "I could kill you with my little finger" withering stare.

Dawn suggested calling Anya, because after all, it wasn't like there was a plethora of demons-turned-humans hanging around town. Spike had heartily endorsed the idea, in between ducking and covering. "Since I'm trying to get back to vamphood, myself, maybe she can curse me or something."

That, of course, had stopped the room dead. "You're _what_?" Dawn had shouted at exactly the same time as Buffy, and the two of them stood side by side, never more obviously sisters than in their mutual hips-turned-out, arms-crossed-over-chest outrage.

Suddenly, weirdly, madly, Xander had felt sorry for Spike. Like in a brotherly way, like in a "chicks will kill you, man" way. He didn't want to give points to Spike for anything, but... sometimes he was aware that there really was a pretty fine line between them, and Spike had been right about all the things he'd said in the bar, much as Xander hated to admit it. That all this was happening to him because he'd wanted to try to do right by Buffy, someone Xander truly did love, somehow made him sympathetic for the first time in like... ever, because Xander got that, the whole "make myself good enough for you" thing. He also got why Spike hadn't wanted to say anything about it, since it had all been so effed up. The fact that Spike hadn't had control over any of it... yeah, that Xander definitely got. You wanted to keep that sort of failure on the down-low. Buffy and Dawn were girls; they'd never understand that guy thing about keeping your problems to yourself and trying to appear cool, calm, and collected. It was enough to make Xander want to high-five Spike and give him one of those smooth gangsta handshakes or something.

So Spike had spilled the rest of the story in a really rushed way, and since Xander got lost in the pronouns and the weird English slang he had taken Dawn's arm and said, "Let's let them work this out themselves." He steered her upstairs under a barrage of shouting -- because Spike was starting to shout back now, and even though he wasn't a vampire anymore, it was hard to not think of him that way -- and they closed the bathroom door. That was about a half hour ago. It would get vewy vewy quiet in the house, and then suddenly there'd be a thunk from somewhere on the main floor, and then more of Buffy's screechy voice, and then a bunch of Englishy-sounding expletives from Spike, then silence. Rinse, repeat.

So now here they were, Xander sitting on the toilet, Dawn on the edge of the tub, looking around the room as if studying its design for a new coffee-table book on Sunnydale bathrooms.

"You know, normal kids are asleep at three-thirty in the morning," Dawn said idly, trimming her fingernails with the clipper she'd dug out of the basket on the counter.

"Neeeever gonna happen," Xander said.

"Normal kids whose sisters aren't demon killers with vampire ex-boyfriends."

"Like I said."

"It could happen. Someday. I'm going to go to college in like Florida or something. Maine."

"You have no evidence that there isn't a hellmouth on the east coast, you know. I hear there's one in Cleveland."

Even up here it smelled like someone was burning toast downstairs.

"Man, I never thought I'd feel sorry for Spike, but geez, what a story. I've never seen Buffy act like that, either. I get that she's mad and all, but... the guy's kind of been through a lot, you know?"

"Yeah," Dawn sighed. "And he did it all for Buffy, so you'd think she'd at least appreciate it."

For some reason that made things clearer. He wasn't supposed to be encouraging Dawn to feel sorry for him, even if Xander felt that way himself. That had become his job the past few months: keeper of the Spike Did a Bad Thing flame. "But Dawn, he tried to rape her. That's not exactly... it's not like it's romantic or anything." He'd learned over the summer that if he got all lecturey about it, she would get defensive and take Spike's side no matter what. The weird thing was that Buffy did it too. No matter how hard he tried to wrap his mind around it, their easy forgiveness of him just boggled the brain pan. So he mentioned it as off-handedly as possible, even though it never got him very far.

Dawn just shrugged.

Xander unrolled the toilet paper again, then started rolling it back up. "Oh!" He remembered he hadn't called Anya, so he dialed her number. She answered in a sleepy voice peppered with scorn. He held the phone away from his ear for a while as she bitched him out for expecting her to come over to the Summers house -- to which she had not been invited in quite some time and of course that had everything to do with her demonhood even though she'd been the wronged party here and they'd just taken him back boo-hoo as if he'd done nothing like the unspeakably cruel thing he'd done to her ON THEIR WEDDING DAY-- in the middle of the night. Or morning, actually, since it was past three now.

He turned his back so he wouldn't have to see Dawn's carefully raised eyebrow and smirky mouth, and attempted the mollifying approach he'd so skillfully honed over the years they'd been together. Appeals to her uniqueness always worked, and he could sense her giving in when they heard an incredibly loud crash, a door slamming, and then total silence downstairs. "I gotta go," he said, and closed the phone. When he turned back to Dawn, she was sitting there with her mouth open.

This was not good, was all Dawn could think. "What if Buffy stakes him?"

"Well, then she'd kill him," Xander replied, kind of stunned, "but not in a vampirey way. She can't do that."

"God, do you think she'd be so mad at him she'd forget?"

"Nah. Oh god. Do you think they're... you know... with the rough sex, and that's what the noise is?"

"Ew!" Dawn squinted. "No. She'd never do that with me in the house, anyway. I might see something that will upset my virgin eyes."

"Why _is_ she so mad at him, anyway? I just don't get this level of Buffinsanity -- she's never been like this before."

Dawn stared at him. Sometimes, even though Xander was mostly pretty cool and she'd had a major crush on him when she was little, she was astounded by his cluelessness. No wonder he'd ditched Anya at the altar; he was every bit as much of a 'tard as the dorks in her class were. You'd think a couple of years out of high school would have given him some wisdom.

"Because he did the worst thing he could ever do to himself all for her, you tool."

Xander's shoulders sagged. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Angel already had his soul when he met her. Every time Spike does something that's like the stuff Angel did, he does it for her to make her love him, and she can't handle that being the object of love thing. It freaks her out that Spike wants to be good just for her."

Xander made the fish face, where his mouth went open close open close and his eyes were all walleyed. Fish face always made her giggle. "You're scary for a kid your age."

"I wish you guys would remember that when you're treating me like I'm a baby who has to have a sitter! Geez. I'm sixteen, I'm not even that much of a kid, anyway."

"When you can drink and vote, then you can stop calling yourself a kid."

" _You_ can't! Drink, anyway."

"Do you think we should go out there and check? I'm actually -- gah! -- I never thought I'd say this, but I'm actually kind of worried about Spike. What if she chucks a flying star at him or something? Before, it wouldn't have mattered, but I don't think she needs to go all Faith Jr. just because Spike accidentally got human."

She sighed, because she seriously did not want to go down there. Dawn had been enjoying her evening; watching cartoons with Spike was always a good time because he made such funny comments that you were laughing at him before you even laughed at the jokes on the screen. And it made her feel all warm and fuzzy to have him there, close and friendly and stuff being like it used to be, not all tense and scary and everyone hates everyone OMG. And then Buffy had to go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like "You're ALIVE?" in that incredibly shrieky voice she got sometimes and made Spike leap off the couch like he was a missile that had just been launched and bark his shin on the coffee table and Dawn had fallen off the couch with her heart hammering in her chest as if she'd just been hit by a Taser. Way to ruin the nice cozy evening, you big dumb Slayer.

Of course, probably if Spike had just told her before, or if Dawn had just spilled the beans, then things might be a little calmer. But now they had to go down there with Buffy and Spike sublimating -- that's the word she'd wanted earlier! -- their whole rough sex sekrit love nest can't live with you can't live without you Thing through an argument and 1950s-style throwing things tantrums. She put the nail clippers back in the basket and squared her shoulders.

"Ready when you are, Sarge."

"Hoo-ah." Just as Xander opened the door they heard a terrible crash and then the sounds of oofing and puffing.

Oh god! Buffy was really beating the shit out of Spike this time, and there wasn't anything he could do! She pushed past Xander and raced down the stairs.

Except, weirdly, there were four people in the kitchen and Buffy and Spike had their backs to the hallway, fists up, and the other two people were -- well, maybe not people, but... things -- swinging these spiky balls on chains towards the two of them. Buffy quickly picked up a chair and held it seat bottom out as the ball crashed into the wood, then stuck there. She yanked hard and pulled the creature guy into the cooking island, then bashed him on the head with the chair.

Unfortunately that didn't slow him... it down. But some memory deep inside Dawn came back, she remembered everything that Buffy had taught her, and she and Xander both rushed for the weapons chest just as the other creature-thing sent the spiky ball crashing near Spike's head. Maybe he was human again, but he still had good reflexes, ducking just in time.

Xander tossed an axe at Buffy, who pivoted, swung, and sent the creature's head flying into the kitchen window, crash. Ew. They smelled bad on the outside, Buffy thought, but the blood-like substance was ten times worse. And kind of a weird greeny color.

Spike was crab-walking backwards trying to get out of the way when a sword came flying over his head, wielded by Dawn. She was swinging it around and around, just the way Buffy had taught her not to do. ("It's like those gangbanging guys who insist on holding their guns sideways. You can't hit the side of a barn, but they think it looks cool.") Still, her little sister pretty much effectively managed to drive it right into the thing's throat; it fell down, all burbly and oozing.

They all took a moment to regroup, panting. Buffy barked, "What the hell took you so long! Didn't you hear me shouting for help?"

Xander made squinty-face. "Uh, we heard you shouting, but we didn't know it was any different from you going medieval on Spike's ass before. It had that sort of girl who cried wolf quality."

Buffy waved her arm. "Do you know how long we've been calling for you?"

"We kind of tuned you out after the whupping you gave Spike," Dawn said in a totally pedantic way, and went over to her victim, pulling the sword out of its neck like she was a modern-day Arthur. Buffy half expected music to swell. "It wasn't till we thought you were trying to kill him that we came down."

" _Why_ would I kill Spike?" Buffy hollered.

Spike made a show of gazing heavenward, and the other two followed suit. She really hated it when everyone ganged up on her. "It's not as if you haven't tried before," he said quietly.

"I would not kill Spike!" Buffy stomped her foot for good measure. "And anyway, apparently I don't have to." She glared pointedly at him.

Dawn and Xander turned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Uhh..." Spike scratched his head. "Well, apparently the Powers have a sick sense of humor and are killing me slowly. Or softly, something like that. I came back wrong."

Buffy stared hard at him, remembering with icy clarity those words from him in an alley one dark night, before all of this misery had started. And while she hadn't really come back wrong, if what he'd told her was true, Spike actually had (was he trying to one-up her?) and there was nothing anyone could do for him.

And that hurt, a lot more than she was able to say.

"Dude..." was all Xander could say.

Dawn got shimmery tear eyes, but her lips were drawn in a thin line. That meant she was going to get huffy. "Why? What do you mean? Why would the Powers make you human and then just kill you?" she demanded, voice rising in panic.

"No one knows. And it can't be fixed. I was hoping to get turned back into a vampire because I wanted... I wanted to have at least something to offer. Superhuman strength, being able to go into a chamber filled with toxic gasses and rescue the fair maiden before she expires, that sort of thing. But in trying to find a way to do that, Wes and Fred discovered I wasn't quite put together correctly."

Buffy began the task of picking up the head and the shattered glass, because she'd rather smell icky creature smell than listen to Spike talk about this. It was like having memories made of broken glass, stabbing at her mind and heart every time those subjects came up. But Dawn and Xander just stood there, staring dumbly, and then joy of joys, Anya came into the house in a snit, stepping over the bodies like they were just piles of swept-up dirt.

"What are you doing here?" Buffy asked sharply.

"I'm asking myself the same question. I hope you didn't invite me here on the pretense of fighting off these loathsome... things." She stared at Xander with such hostility that it made him shrink backwards. "Or cleanup. God, you didn't invite me here to clean up after this?" she wailed.

"We thought maybe she'd have some, you know, good advice." Dawn was trying to be perky, obviously, but it was way off.

"Thanks, but no thanks," Spike said.

Anya glanced at each of them in turn. "What is this? What's going on? Why am I here?" She looked down at the floor. "And can't you please remove these vile creatures?"

Buffy rolled her eyes and dragged a body out the back door. They really, really smelled.

Xander was explaining it all when she came back in the kitchen. "Spike's a human again, and we thought, you know, that since people were having such a hard time dealing with it, that maybe, you know, reminding them that it's happened before..."

The news didn't even seem to faze her. "Oh, I see. I'm supposed to be a role model for ex-demons turned human, even though of course I was treated so badly due to my previous livelihood and in fact lost my humanity when I was humiliated at the one time I would have experienced one of those pinnacles of human achievement so important to so many of you. Why, yes, I have many things to say about the process of alternating one's lifestyle from demonhood to humanity. Would you like to hear them, Spike?"

"Uh... I'm good, really." He looked like he was almost ready to cry.

She rounded on Buffy. "I'm sure this is all your fault, what with the whole bad sex thing and the way you treated him."

"Hey!" Buffy snapped, but couldn't muster the reserves for anything else from the snappy retort arsenal. The big problem, of course, was that she couldn't quite deny that.

"An..." Xander said, and moved closer to her. "I just thought... maybe you'd want to know what was going on, and that if you were in on it, you could help. You have wisdom and insight. And you won't feel left out."

Buffy could see Anya melt under that. Well, who wouldn't? When Xander became totally aware guy, he was pretty good.

Spike was staring at the head lying in a pool of goo on the counter. "Guess I won't have to draw them from memory, will I?" He shuddered. "Disgusting tossers, aren't they?"

Buffy turned to look at the head as well, then her gaze went to the other body still lying on the door sill. She scowled.

"What is it?" Dawn asked.

"I... I think I know who these guys are."

"That's not an association I would admit to in certain company," Anya said. "At least as a vengeance demon you meet a better class of people."

Spike wondered if Buffy was starting to put it all together. "No, it's..." Buffy squatted down, patting the body as if searching for something, but she didn't find whatever she was looking for. She cocked her head. Spike found it all quite enchanting in an odd sort of way. He'd always liked her when she was in full Slayer mode, and he'd never seen her so sleuthy, really. Already the earlier part of the night, when she'd thrown things at him and thumped him royally for having the temerity to not tell her the unbelievable truth, seemed like a distant memory. He'd got used to that with her before, anyway -- she had her tantrum, and then she went on with it. Just one of the many things he loved about Buffy that he shouldn't.

"Oh! Oh god." Buffy's hand flew to her mouth.

"What? What? _Oh god_ is not a comfort. Don't make alarming statements without providing more information," Anya cried.

Xander put a steadying hand on her shoulder. Not that it was possible, in Spike's experience, to calm Anya down once she got started.

"Slayer?" Spike prompted. "Wanna let us in on the top secret?"

"I know who these guys are. I've run into them before. They're minions for the First."

"The first what? National Bank of Heebiejeebie?" Xander asked.

Spike gave him a speaking look for making such a lame remark. Way below his usual standards.

"No, the First. Like with a capital F. The First Evil. It tried to destroy Angel after he came back. Bad juju. Really bad juju. I never had the chance to find out if it was as _all that_ as it said it was. And even though I kind of kicked its ass, it said it would be back and would destroy us all. Guess I didn't take it seriously enough. Maybe I should be more careful about who I mock."

Well, that was jolly good. "Picked a great time to lose my powers for evil, didn't I?" Spike said dryly.

Buffy exhaled with a big loud sigh, her face creased with frown lines. "Don't beat yourself up about that. If this First thing is what it says it is, all the powers in the world won't be able to stop it."

From behind him, Xander said in a squeaky little voice, "Yay team."

She glanced at them all in turn. "I think we gotta get the big guns. It's time to call Willow and Giles."

 

The crystal shimmered in the fall light, reflecting the green grass of the field beneath it from its bottom side. Willow watched as it formed a new prism, then grew another, then another, each one circling round and round. It hung in midair, bouncing just a little in the good stiff Devonshire breeze. Off in the distance she heard a cow moo. When the clouds finally cleared all the way, the sun hit perfectly upon the crystal, amplified by its constantly changing shape. Refracted beams split out in all directions, forming a kaleidoscopic tangle of prisms. She spoke a few words of the incantation and then--

Pow! Her head exploded with images of blood and ichor and axes and suddenly there was Buffy besieged by some seriously wicked looking vampires and there were dead bodies everywhere and Spike was dying. He was exploding in a thousand fragments of light like a lava lamp had been blown up. She clutched at her temples, stumbling, the crystal exploding into shards all over the place as if it was shrapnel from incoming artillery fire. Pieces hit her face, her arms, cutting through her coat and sweater. Willow fell to her knees, and the vision passed.

After a few minutes of trying to get herself together, and pull the pieces of crystal from her skin -- and now the knees of her jeans were really wet and gross, and that just didn't help at all -- Giles huffed up beside her. "Willow! What on earth?" He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped her face and neck. "Dear god."

"Giles. Oh god. That was like the worst hangover headache ever."

"What happened? I thought your exercises had been going so well."

"It wasn't that, I didn't lose control or anything. Well, I mean, it wasn't a me thing. I got... wow, I got a vision. Of everyone back in Sunnydale and it was really most sincerely bad. People were dead, Giles. People we knew... everyone. Something really terrible happened."

"What from?" He made a puzzled face, though that seemed to be pretty much how he always looked at her lately.

"I don't know, but it was bad. Really scary vampires, I think. Spike was molten. It was all jumbly and edited super fast. I couldn't tell what was happening." She stared at her shaking hands.

"Spike was molten?"

"Yeah, or something like that. Glowy and blowing up."

Poor Giles. He obviously thought she'd gone round the nut or off his twist or whatever it was they called it over here.

"We have to go home. Like, now. Something bad is going to happen."

"But Willow, you don't know that. This... this vision, it could be anything. Triggered by the kind of things you're experimenting with. You don't know what caused it, and being rash could backfire. You're making so much progress."

"Not to go all Luke on you, Yoda, but if something bad is happening to my friends, I have to be there. I can't leave them alone."

Giles pursed his lips. "If anything bad were happening, wouldn't we have heard? Surely Buffy would have contacted us."

His mobile phone rang.

"Okay, that was kinda freaky." Willow quirked her eyebrow at his sour face. "You gotta admit, it's funny."

Giles just gave a librariany look and answered. "Buffy," he said seriously, though she could see he was trying hard not to smile, what with the tell-tale muscle twitch on his cheek. "What a pleasant surprise." He listened for a while, made noises of demurral and interest, agreed with something, told her it would be okay. And when he rang off, he didn't return eye contact for a few minutes.

"Okay, spill. Witchy-Witch has ways of making you talk, mister."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "It seems something rather big is happening in Sunnydale. Danger's afoot and all that rubbish. And Buffy's having prescient dreams about an impending disaster."

"Time to go home?"

Giles nodded. "Time to go home."


	8. Stop Me If You've Heard This One Before

Breathe out, so I can breathe you in

 

Buffy picked her way along the unfinished sidewalk in front of the unfinished house, stepping over broken concrete and roots poking up through the cracks. All this time living in Sunnydale and she'd never been out here to the Estates. Giles must have been seriously asleep on the job for not telling her there was a whole demon squatter community here; though, she supposed, if it was mostly demons just trying to get by and not bothering anyone, like Clem, then maybe there was a good reason he'd never ponied up the info. Or maybe he'd just never found out about it, since even Spike said it was kind of a community secret even he hadn't known about till he started hanging with Clem. Heck, maybe there was even a glamour on it, and other demons and people couldn't even see it. Buffy had always thought Clem was a good influence on Spike -- and in some ways, this seemed like more proof that Clem was (kitten poker aside) trying to keep Spike on the up and up. Still, Spike's choice to remain living with demons... it was hard to get a handle on. He hadn't been obligated to come here, to try to fit in again. He didn't have to wear the demony cloak, especially the _good_ demony cloak, yet it was, she supposed, his only real connection to her. At least, that might be how he saw it. She'd almost kind of given up trying to get him to see her side of the whole thing.

Buffy knocked on the door; really, though, maybe that was more politeness than a squatter home deserved? Spike was used to people coming in and out of his space. Except, she remembered, that he'd hated it -- accepted it, yeah, but _liked_ it? Never. Everything felt so weird and bad-dream-freaky lately. All the things that had passed between them had carved such a huge chasm that despite her efforts to set things right, to build a friendship again, she didn't think she could bridge it.

From an upstairs window, Spike poked his head out. "Slayer!" he yelped. "Hang about for a mo."

She heard running footsteps and then some whooshing sounds, pattering and clattering; eventually the door opened and Spike scowled at her. "What you doin' here?"

"What, have you got a girl in there, or something? What's with all the surprisey face and running around like a chipmunk on 'roids?"

He swept a hand inside, ushering her in. "I wasn't expecting visitors."

"Aaand that would answer my question how?" She looked around. Nearly empty except for a few necessities like lamps, a chair... not much different from the disheveled mess that he'd had at the crypt.

"No girls. I was asleep." He crossed his arms in front of his chest tightly, and she realized that he was still very uncomfortable around her. Probably especially uncomfortable with her visiting him in his new place.

"I like it. It's almost like a real house. So all this time, there've been demons here, huh?"

"Apparently so. Very much on the down-low, though. Most of them I've met are harmless; they probably didn't want the nasties twigging to the fact that they were here at all."

"Well, at least it's a roof over your head, and it's not damp and moldy or has dead things."

They watched each other warily for a moment, uncertain how the other would respond, both of them wondering about the memories that would dredge up. Finally Buffy moved off to give herself a tour, Spike following.

"You sleep a lot these days, don't you?"

"Afraid so."

"Because of the coming back wrong thing."

He flinched, but nodded with that skeptical look he was so practiced at. Everything she said or did seemed to arouse some kind of suspicion or doubt in him. Would they ever be able to get back on some kind of level ground with each other?

Halfway up the stairs she paused and turned to face him. "I'm sorry about the other night. I didn't know how to react to all of that. And I'm sort of tired of all the sooper sekrit stuff going on, with people seeing and knowing and the not telling to the slayer. I was kind of hoping... wishing we'd gotten past that, you know?"

"Course."

"And I shouldn't have yelled at you but when you started yelling back it kind of made me madder."

"Well, you see, that's why I'd kept it secret. I wanted to find a way to tell you that wasn't shocking. And because I didn't really know how to tell you about the other things."

"Aren't you afraid?" She came down a couple steps, standing almost eye to eye with him.

"All the time."

"Spike... there has to be something we can do. Isn't there?" She put her hand to his face, and his skin was so cool. But not vampire cool anymore, more like that kind of sick clammy cold. From sleeping, she guessed, but... it was so weird.

"Not so's Wes and Giles tell it. I think the only one who may be able to do it is Willow. And she's not ready for that. God only knows what I might end up as. Toad would be one of the better possibilities. But it's more than simply reciting a spell, I'm meant to believe, or so Wes says. Rituals and incantations and cycles of the moon, or something like that. 'less I want to be turned the old-fashioned way, and that means sans soul. Since it's never been done before, no one knows for dead cert."

"You and Willow spent some time together, didn't you?"

He arched an eyebrow.

"I talked to her today. She and Giles are coming back tomorrow. I was thinking of having a little party or something. It might be easier since I think it's gonna be kind of awkward."

"Uh... not sure that's a good idea, Buff."

Buffy sat down on the step, and after a minute's hesitation, Spike joined her. The wood was cold on her ass; it looked as if the carpet had been laid only on the ground floor before they abandoned this place. "I take it you know something _else_ you're not telling me?"

Scratching his neck -- the bite still hurt and even though Wes and Fred had found a potion to heal wounds, it never really cleared up all the way \-- and considered the best way to tell her. "She... we... were attacked by a vamp pack one night. I was next to useless in fighting them off, but she worked some black mojo on them and turned them into--" he waved his hands dramatically in the air "--big giant fireballs of death. Bird packs a wicked punch, too -- got hit with a blast of energy or something that knocked me into a skip."

" _Oh_ my god."

"Well, wasn't as dramatic as all that, but she hit a bit of a rough patch getting through it. Told her my theories on it, but I don't know what all ended up happening after I left."

"Do you think she could step over the line again?"

The possibility had occurred to him, but he mulled it over. "Nah, I think she's better, really. She just... has a lot of doubts about herself she needs to work out."

"Is Giles helping?"

"Think so. But low-key is the way to go on anything for-she's-a-jolly-good-fellow."

"I get that. Okay. Maybe just a little friends welcome home."

"Good idea."

"You'll come?" It was the way she asked, almost pleading, that threw him. He smelled the leather of her jacket, the tuberose and gardenia scents within the perfume she wore. Cucumber, too, which must have been the shampoo. There were times he still felt as if he had all his vampire senses intact, especially when he was around Buffy. Though he had no idea what that could possibly mean.

"Well, yeah. Sure."

They sat on the step for a while until Buffy glanced at him curiously. "Hey. I was thinking. You can, like, go outside in the daylight and stuff now, right?"

"Yeeesss..."

"You wanna do something? Shame to waste a Saturday afternoon. And before, we could never do anything during the day. It would be fun!"

"What exactly do you think would be fun?" It wasn't that he disdained the idea of an afternoon with her, not at all, but this seemed rather out of the ordinary. Having "fun" with him had never exactly been on her To Do list before.

"Well, I don't know. Something." She put her thinking face on. Spike loved her thinking face, the crease in the middle of her brow, the way her mouth pursed into a little O. "Hey! When I was a kid, my parents took me to this cool place out on Highway 10 that had these big giant plaster dinosaurs. I thought it was really cool. You could go up into the brontosaurus where there was a gift shop. I saw it on the Travel Channel or whatever the other day... and I just wanted to go back so bad when I saw that."

"Reminds you of your folks being together."

"I guess. Well, yeah. But more than that, it was just fun. I always liked road trips when I was a kid. Mom once told me that she had to put me in the car sometimes and drive me around to get me to go to sleep."

"Funny that, you being the non-driver and all."

"Maybe I just like it when others do the driving." She flashed a charming, aw-shucks smile that left him with butterflies flittering around in his stomach.

"All right then, dinosaurs it is. Dawn coming, or is it a private party?"

"She has dance class."

"Dance class? Oh, you _are_ getting very normal suburban, aren't you?"

"After last year, I wanted to try to give her something as close to normal as possible. When she was a kid... well, my memories of the girl the monks created... she had dance class all through childhood."

For the first time Spike dared to really touch Buffy, and put his palm to her cheek, pushing her hair back behind her ear. "You're a good big sis. Much better than you know."

 

 

She moved her hand up and down, playing airplane within the stream of desert air that swept over arm. Even with sunglasses the bright light out here was so startling. The minute you got out of town, away from that film of brown haze that extended all the way up to Santa Barbara and down to San Diego, everything felt different. Spike tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the radio, occasionally glancing her way, smiling. He looked so gaunt and worn down out here in the light, but she had never had the chance to see him like this, in the sunshine. Except once, and they'd been busy trying to kill each other, so that really didn't count.

"So, Palm Springs, eh?" Spike asked.

"Yeah. All the time, at least, it felt like that back then. Mom and Dad played tennis, so it was always this resort holiday thing. We were bored up the wazoo. That was before tanning by the poolside and chasing boys, though."

"You never struck me as the boy-chasing type. Should think they always came after you."

"Mostly." She smiled at him, unable to resist being happy when he was grinning like that. His sharp white teeth still seemed very vampirey.

"You getting all nostalgic again?"

"Not so much. No danger of killing my friends so I can stay locked away in my cozy mental insane asylum or anything."

"Good to know."

"But Willow coming home... this stuff with the Bringers... I think in some ways it's made me want to ramp up the fun. Do relaxy non-slayer things. I have this weird bad feeling kind of sitting in the back of my mind, like all of this, even you... the humanness, it means something."

"Such as?" Spike cut out around someone to pass, muttering darkly in British obscenities.

"Just... Big Doings. Some of the dreams, they're kind of apocalyptic. Not that I don't already get that a lot -- you know, apocalypse yawn, but it gives me a reason to want to do the whole carp dime thing."

"Car _pe_. Carp's a fish. And diem for day, not dime." There was a bemused look on his face. "Though I reckon you could say fish the day, too. I think we're there," Spike said, waving a hand at the landscape ahead. "Unless those are real dinosaurs and we've just landed in Jurassic Desert." On the horizon they could just see the head of a brontosaurus. Or something, he wasn't entirely sure he knew his dinosaurs. All of that came long after his time. Most of the creature was obscured by restaurant signs anyway.

"Oh, cool!" Buffy squealed, bouncing in her seat. Really, if he'd had any idea all it took to get her this jolly and excited was a drive out to Cabazon to see some plaster dinos, he'd have nicked a car and hit the gas way back when. Xander he might have expected this from, but most certainly not Buffy. They pulled in to park and she was out of the Jeep like a rocket, beelining for the T. Rex. They had to visit each dinosaur, including the wee added-on-later fellows who didn't seem to get as much attention as the big two, and Buffy demanded Spike take her picture at each one. Then they had to go up into the belly of the... Apatosaurus, it said in the shop, where Spike amused himself by watching Buffy pick up ridiculous merchandise for everyone in Sunnydale. She truly was the most adorable thing when she got like this, all pocket-sized sweetness and cheerleader glee. Finally he was able to tear her away for a food break.

Across the way at the A&W, they sat outside with a couple of root beer floats and enjoyed the heat of a desert afternoon. It was really the first time he'd ever just chatted with Buffy about mundanities -- she told him more about her childhood, and asked him questions about what things had been like when he was growing up. Angel had told him once that Buffy didn't like talking about his human life, as if that made her all too conscious of the strange situation and the fact that she had feelings for someone she was supposed to be enemies with. And Spike had always noticed that she rarely responded to remarks he made about being alive. Maybe now that he was human again, it had warmed her to the topic, or maybe it was just his impending demise. Regardless of the reason, he enjoyed it. As it got on toward sunset she asked if they could go back to the dinos one more time, like she'd never have the chance to simply drive out here and recapture a bit of her childhood again. Spike was beginning to think there was a lot more apocalypse in her imagination than she was willing to let on. They drove back across the street, but this time when she got out, she was more serious, concentrating.

As she stood on top of a little turtley thing, silhouetted by the deepening orange pink of the sunset, Spike thought he saw more of the little girl still inside her than any other time he'd known her. Gazing down at him, Buffy put her hands on either side of his face, stroking her palms over his cheeks. "Thank you for a great day," she said quietly. "The kind of day I don't really get to have much."

"Glad I could be of service." That was all he could say, really \-- normal had never been in their vocabulary, and so a normal, fun, wasted afternoon doing silly things had never been an opportunity. And that she was willing to ask him -- her old enemy, the one who attacked her -- to be part of this opportunity meant so much that he would never have the vocabulary to truly express it. He could only gaze up at her mournful face with the eyes that turned down so sadly at the outside corners, smile at her as if to say something deeper, more important.

Her ability to forgive seemed boundless; no matter how hard done by she was, Buffy always found some way back to the people she cared for. The strangest thing, Spike realized as she put her arms around his neck and he helped her hop down, was that she included him in that category now.

Buffy kissed him lightly on the mouth, her lips tasting of root beer and vanilla, and then she grabbed his hand and dragged him back to the car. In the pantheon of kisses it was average and unremarkable; to Spike, though, it was the zenith of kissing achievement, carrying a significance for greater than any mere pressing together of mouths could hold. He put the car in gear and tried hard not to give in to the smug smile he was fairly sure was growing on his face anyway.

 

 

Each time Spike glanced over at the other three Scoobies that made up their little airport welcome committee, he was seized with a desire to grab Xander's ridiculous yellow sign and bash him about the head with it. Partly his simmering rage was based on the fact that they wouldn't listen to him, maintaining a jittery, wary chatter that wouldn't stop, ignoring the fact that he'd told them Red was okay and wouldn't turn them into a big flamey ball of molten lava the instant she stepped off the airway. But mostly, really, his annoyance came from Xander and that absurd sign, and Xander's unceasing loop retelling the yellow crayon story that saved the world. Much as he was grateful that anything at all had saved it, in fact, the low- to nonexistent self-esteem driving Xander to repeat the story ad nauseum was enough to cause a fellow to lose it and kill everyone in a spree of good old-fashioned violence.

Finally passengers began disembarking. When Willow got off the plane Spike thought briefly about hiding. As if he didn't have the right to be here with this close-knit group, so tied together by things he could never fully understand. He hung back to let the main group have their reunion. But then after all the hugs and kisses and tears of joy and recrimination, he was pummeled by Red when she hurled herself at him, shouting, "Spike!" and squeezing the bejesus out of his not-especially-healthy lungs. "You're really here, I'm so happy!"

Prying her off him, he said, "Couldn't miss your homecoming, yeah?"

She stood back, brushing herself off, looking a bit embarrassed. "Sorry, got a little carried away. All those months with reticent British types."

"The feelings, they just explode out of you once you're back on home soil," he said dryly.

"Well, yeah, especially when they've been locked away keeping a stiff upper lip."

Xander slid between them. "So hey, welcome home," he said, except he was facing Spike. A clear warning to get out of the way, since this homecoming was for the real Superfriends only. All that did was make Spike more eager to keep Willow close to him. Spike narrowed his eyes and grinned, getting ready to strike.

"Hey! Hey!" Buffy said, stepping in with a perky warning smile. "Party time at my house!" She took Willow's arm and began steering her to the baggage claim. "Not, like, a big scary party, like my welcome home that one time -- just us. But I thought it might be nice to have some food and etcetera to get you readjusted to West Coast time. I was reading an article that says eating a light meal and trying to stay up as late as you can might help you readjust more quickly."

"Or I could do a spell." Willow watched Buffy's face contort into a rictus of anxiety, but she couldn't hold her serious on very long. "I'm kidding! Oh god, I can see it's gonna be a long time before there will be jokes allowed." She put her hands over her eyes.

Dawn piped up from behind, "It might be a good idea for a while if you do that wink wink, nudge nudge thing, just to let us know you're not planning to kill anyone again. Sort of like training wheels and then we'll tell you when you can take them off."

Willow glanced sideways and raised her eyebrows. She was ready for this, she was, even though she felt monumentally tense and nervous. They would have to joke about the death and destruction, it was their way of getting through such crazy events. But still she wasn't sure just how much was coming from an attempt to lighten things up, and how much was residual anger. Not that they didn't have a right to it. It would be a while before everything settled down. And if they never forgave all the way, she understood that, too.

Maybe that's why it was so easy to deal with Spike. They'd already been through it all. As they walked to baggage claim, he leaned over and asked, sotto voce, "We could escape if you're interested. I'll create a distraction and then... clean getaway."

She smiled. "I'll tough it out. It's part of the program, anyway."

He nodded. She got the distinct impression he'd been through all the steps before. When they got home, she would definitely have to ask him how it had all gone over enough so that they would invite him to the airport.

They found the carousel and everyone stood around awkwardly for a second, until Willow suddenly remembered the most important news of all. "I can't believe I almost forgot about this!" she blurted, and everyone turned an interested face toward her, hoping to be saved from uncomfortable small talk questions. "You know how Giles was coming in later? It's gonna be more later than that -- Buffy, the council... it was blown up yesterday. All of them. Or most of them, there was a big meeting that Giles grumbled about not being invited to. The whole building came down."

Buffy blinked a few times, obviously shaken, but trying to appear strong. It could go either way when she was like that, and Willow wasn't sure if she was going to belt her for not telling sooner -- or maybe better -- or start crying.

"They blew up? H-How?"

Xander whistled. "Well, that's one way to get them off your back."

Dawn punched him on the arm.

"Hey! Watch the ow!"

Willow shot him a look. "They don't know for sure what happened, but there were a couple of watchers who weren't there, including Giles, and they're trying to figure things out. One of them knew what the meeting was about. Something about First Evil or First Blood or something. I didn't really get it all. Giles was kind of... he went into full librarian mode. Very stern and ready for work, the heroic dignity face."

"Kind of like Braveheart, but with research," Xander said, nodding sagely.

"Well, shock, more like it," Willow responded.

Buffy walked over to the long Plexiglas board that listed all the phone numbers and locations of area hotels, and leaned down on it, trying to catch her breath. As much as she'd grown to hate the council and everything they stood for, she couldn't wish all of them dead. Maybe a couple of them, but not _everyone_. And certainly not like that, not at this time. Worse, maybe, was that she might have been able to warn them. In a dream the other night, she'd seen something like it. Buffy had thought for certain it was only just more of the general sense of apocalypsy weirdness that infected her sleep. After all, nothing else in the dreams had come to pass yet -- the robed guys were familiar, but no potential slayers had been knifed that she knew of. So why had the council been blown up? How were they connected, and did this mean her dreams were more than just foreshadowing? If she dreamed a million dollars, would she suddenly get it?

Willow put her hand on Buffy's shoulder. "Buff, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you like that. I forgot and then it was sort of... I guess I never thought you'd well, of course you'd care. Stupid of me not to think you would."

"It's not that. I have no love lost for them, not at all." She sucked in a huge breath, let it out. Tried to center herself. "I saw it in a dream a few days ago. I should have said something, warned them. I don't owe them much, but there's still a connection, even if I don't want it."

"You you saw it? Them getting all blowed up?"

"Not specifically. It's hard to explain. But I knew it was the council and I knew they were gone. And that something terrible had happened."

"You always did get the creeptastic dreams as part of the slayer package."

"No kidding. There are these other things, like I think I'm seeing potential slayers who could be called, and they're getting killed off by these creepy guys, the ones I called you and Giles about the other day."

"This is getting kind of..."

"Disturbing? Welcome to my world, won't you come on in?"

"I was going to say big, but disturbing will do, too."

From behind them, Spike said, "Because nothing like that happens very often round here."

Buffy crossed her arms over her chest and glanced at Spike. "It was the Bringers. Harbingers. Whatever the hell they're called."

"You know that for sure?" he asked, though Spike mostly just asked things like that because he was trying to get her to think ahead, not because he doubted her ability to figure things out.

"Well, unless they find some surveillance tape of ooky little robed guys with their eyes sewn shut and their tongues cut out skulking around the council headquarters, my slayer dreams are probably the best we're going to get. But they've usually been pretty reliable before."

"No worries. I know you see things. Maybe we should give Giles a call, eh? Let him know what we know."

"He's got a cell now, right?"

Willow nodded. "That's the number you got him on the other day. We were out in a big field."

"Giles and technology... it kind of boggles the mind, doesn't it?" Buffy asked.

"Oh hey, my bag!" Willow shrieked, and bounced off to go get it.

Buffy looked at Spike. "Remember how I was convinced that all the fun was going to end soon?"

"The burden of always being right weighs heavy on the shoulders," he said acidly. "You're a veritable Cassandra."

"Who?"

"Never mind. We'll do the mythology tutoring later."

"Whatever. My gut says there won't be much time for road trips and root beer floats anymore." She sighed and grabbed Spike's hand, and the look of shock on his face was worth the suspicion and scorn that Xander instantly shot her way. "Come on. I have a feeling we've got some world-saveage coming up."

 

 

The party was a little too small to call a party, really. Clem was there, though hanging to the side of the room, watching Willow suspiciously, jumpier and more scattershot than ever. Anya had decided to come, even though she was still nursing a deep grudge against Willow, and the group in general. It would have been better with Giles, but he wouldn't be joining them for at least another day or two, depending on how the situation with the council sorted itself out.

They all had a chance to talk to Willow, except Clem who pretty much stayed in the corner with the lamp. Buffy was glad that everyone was getting a lot of the water swept under the bridge, or something like that. Spike always corrected her about getting sayings wrong, enough so that her head swam with metaphors and similes. She should be annoyed with him for that sort of thing, but it actually endeared him to her more.

"Looks like Will and Dawn are mending the proverbial fences," Xander said from her left. Buffy glanced up at him and nodded. "I was kind of leery of that one. Not that I expect the ice to thaw with Anya and Will anytime soon, but Dawnie... she had a lot of baggage already."

"Yeah, things were pretty tense anyway, after the accident. I think it's easier sometimes when you're all going through the crap times together and you're the same age, trying to work everything out. Dawn didn't have the same frame of reference."

"Oh, listen to Counselor Buffy! You almost sound like you know what you're talking about."

Buffy smiled, trying not to look smug. "Remember once you were finding out you had a special talent for carpentry?"

"Point taken. Score one for the Buffster."

"You seem unusually chipper."

"Well, I am. Spike's sinister presence aside, it's nice to have the old gang back -- minus Giles, I know -- and that shiny happy people feeling. Even if it we know it won't last long, it's... it's good. Feels like a family again."

"I know what you mean. Spike and I went out for a drive yesterday, just out to the desert, and for a little while I felt like my life was almost... average."

Xander looked sideways at her. "You're liking his humanness, aren't you?" He had to admit to a certain grudging pleasure at knowing Spike could no longer kill him like he was an ant, and it did tend to make him more forgiving of Spike.

She sighed heavily, playing with the fringe on her shirt. "It's not that, not really." Then she looked up at him, and her eyes were abruptly filled with a kind of pain and tenderness he hadn't seen in them since back in the Angel days. "I think he was right a long time ago when he said I needed a little monster in my man. Hard as it is to admit it, more and more, I'm realizing he was right. A lot of the things I liked about him before, the things that made us friends before we... before everything went weird, they were sort of part of his vampireness. And he's so unhappy. Maybe it's because he's going to die -- or thinks he is -- but he really believes he's better off being a vampire. He just wanted a soul. To be better. And that makes me feel very... affectionate, I guess, towards him. I don't know. I don't know how to make it make sense."

Xander had never thought of it that way, how tied to the supernatural world Buffy's feelings were. But he got that, he really did, especially because it was like a bell ringing in his head: that was what he'd loved about Anya, in a way. Her learning to accept her humanity, her desire to do the right thing, even if she didn't understand it all. And that she'd done it because she loved him... He could feel the corners of his mouth tugging downward, something stinging at the back of his eyes. So he squeezed Buffy's arm and nodded, and then went into the kitchen. As he passed by Anya and Willow, he heard Anya say, "I should hope you'd want to help rebuild the Magic Box, since you're the one responsible for its destruction!"

For a long time he'd wanted to blame it on her, believe that she'd taken D'Hoffryn's offer and changed back because that was what she wanted most anyway. But now Xander really could see how hopeless she must have felt, and he was the one who'd pushed her to do it. Almost as if her choice had been no choice at all, just like Spike had felt he had no options. He thought Buffy was always the better person, the kind of person who could see things like that, who could understand. Forgive. And no matter how much he might wish it, Xander couldn't imagine Anya being willing to ever forgive him, not totally. He didn't deserve it. He grabbed a soda from the refrigerator, sucked in a deep breath, and went back out to the living room. Anya was still giving Willow an earful, but she almost -- almost -- smiled when she saw him. That would have to change: He'd have to work on making that a full-fledged smile.

 

 

Scene of the crime. That was all Willow could think of as she puttered around the Magic Box, putting things back on the shelves Xander had either made or remade because they were at least salvageable. Most of the trashed stuff had been taken to the dump, but the books and other sturdier items were still there, waiting to be restocked and reorganized. Over by the front Buffy was helping Xander put up new drywall -- he loved having an assistant who was strong enough to hold two sheets at the same time, one in each hand. Dawn was helping Willow organize the books, and every once in a while she'd glance over, that frowny look creasing her face, as if she was waiting for Willow to open one of the dark magic books and go all wicked again.

So she joked and talked endlessly to keep Dawn's fears at bay, telling her about Giles, about the coven, what English life was like. Xander had put Spike to work nailing together the standalone shelving, and occasionally the hammering would be punctuated by snarled English obscenities, or else by Anya's incessant arguing with vendors as she attempted to restock everything at a demon discount. Willow had asked her about that at the party, why she'd prefer to reopen the Magic Box rather than just be a vengeance demon, and Anya had looked wistful when she said, "Well, the vengeance game just isn't the same anymore." Then she'd turned her gaze to Xander, and Willow realized the decision to reopen was mostly because she still loved Xander, despite every terrible thing he'd done to her. She wanted to stay on course for him, even if she didn't know it herself.

Things were looking pretty good, if she did say so herself. Anya had spent a lot of the summer away, she wouldn't say doing what but they were all pretty certain it was a mix of vengeance and vacation; when she'd come back, she'd slowly started sorting through the rubble. But this was the first large-scale effort at rebuilding. There was something about being back with everyone, even if it was the scene of her crimes, that energized Willow. And she liked having Spike here, even if Spike hadn't wanted to come initially. First he'd tried feigning illness -- "I'm dying; don't you people have any respect for the dying?" -- but when that didn't work, he'd explained patiently that just because he was human didn't make him want to _be_ human and do rubbishy things like help rebuild places that were better left dead. Buffy had just fixed him with that famous glare and he'd caved instantly. For some reason, Spike made Willow feel... well, safe, she supposed was the right word, as if no matter what happened, he would be there to watch out for her, keep her in check. Or shore her up. He seemed to get everything in a way that she wasn't certain others could. They were peas in a pod.

Wiping sweat off her forehead, she hefted another pile of books up the loft stairs. As she put them on the shelf, she held one in her hand and looked at its familiar cover, stroked her hand over its worn leather binding, so comforting and beautiful. Tara's favorite grimoire, and the first one Willow had really committed to learning: translated from the old French, it was called The Book of Philosophies and Magics. She took it over and sat down on the steps, opening its weathered, foxed pages, checking to see if there'd been any lasting damage from her rampage. Dawn cleared her throat.

"Um... maybe you should let me... you know... take care of that."

Willow glanced up, but didn't turn around.

From the main floor Spike took nails out of his mouth and said, " 's all right, Popsicle. She's fine." He flashed Willow a sharp smile and put the nails back between his lips.

Reaching behind, Willow grabbed at Dawn's hand and squeezed. "Don't worry."

Dawn sighed an "Okay," and then went back to stocking.

Everything still seemed intact: histories, incantations, potions. Toward the back was the section on darker spells -- nothing black in here, but it recognized demonic aspects of magic with a kind of practicality that many other books didn't. Most of them were all doom, gloom, and violence when it came to demons, which made it sort of hard when half your world seemed to consist of the good ones fighting it out with the bad ones. With the coven, that had become an important part of her training -- her extensive background and contact with demons of all kinds, and how darkness and light coexisted in the world, how they were connected. A lot of the same stuff Spike had been trying to tell her.

She closed the grimoire and put it on the shelf, picked up some more books. Something at the back of her mind made that little whirring noise, though, the one that always told her to take a breather and think. She leaned over the railing, staring down at Spike, who was shoving some cases together in the middle of the floor, examining how they looked, and then moving them around again in different patterns. The book talked a lot about vampires; when she'd first started studying it, a lot of the information had suddenly made her gay vampire double from the alternate universe make sense. Maybe... if it had something about alternate universe vampires... and there was that section about recovering lost souls...

She grabbed the book off the shelf and furiously leafed through to the back, putting a hand on Dawn's shoulder for a second to say, "No, this is good." She ran down the stairs, trailing Dawn behind her. Shoving diagrams and woodworking tools off the table, she slammed the book down, startling everyone else. Anya held the phone away from her ear, her mouth hanging open.

"No, no, calm down, you guys. It's good, this is good." _There_. Vampires: appetites-p. 404; blood, drinking of-p. 400; death and undeath of-p. 399; resurrection-p. 689; soullessness-p.699; spells against-p. 408; violence-p. 417; warding-p. 410. Right there, set apart by hundreds of pages. That's why it never made the connection in her mind. She flipped to the pages on resurrection. It was such archaic syntax and some of the words were still unfamiliar to her. "Dawn, you're large with the research now, right?" She nodded. "Go get the big encyclopedia of Eastern Europe, the one with the crescent moon cover." Dawn scurried away and came back. Willow was reading so fast, her lips were moving; she knew she looked like a geek, but it didn't matter. This was _everything_.

"Um... this one kind of got a little trashed in the ... event." She made air quotes and Willow tried not to laugh. It really wasn't that funny, but sometimes... well. "What am I looking for?"

"The section on Gypsy curses. Cross reference with vampires and the location of their souls once they're turned."

"Oookay."

Everyone was coming toward them and each person looked stern or scared. Except Spike, who stood there with nails sticking out of his mouth, looking even geekier than her.

"Oh, hey!" Dawn squealed. "There's stuff in here about Angel!" She and Willow both looked up to find Buffy frowning at them. "Sorry."

"I'm not sure this is making sense, but I think... what does it say in there about where the soul actually resides?"

Dawn shook her head. "I... I'm not sure I'm getting this right either, but it seems to say that once the demon takes over, the soul is part of the... firmament?"

"Yeah, that makes sense. It's like... kind of like the atmosphere or something, and we can't see it. Okay, so..." Willow read a few things, half out loud, half to herself. "Oh my god! Oh. Oh, wow."

Finally Spike took the nails out of his mouth and came over.

"I can't believe Wes didn't think of this," she said to him. "Angel's curse, the firmament! The way vampires are resurrected but undead!"

"How about a nice big cup of 'huh'?" Xander asked.

Willow stood, because somehow this seemed like something she should stand for. "Don't ask me to explain it because I'm not sure I could. But I think this book gives me the way to give Spike back his vampirehood... or vampirism... whatever, but keep the soul. I think I get it -- it's not that there's no _way_ to do it, it's just that no one ever _needed_ to do it so there was no way to put the different things together."

Xander made a slightly pained, slightly amused face. "Still waiting for the big light bulb to go off."

Dawn suddenly began flapping her arms and shouting, "Oh! Oh oh oh! Oh, I get it!"

"Well, would you like to share with the group?" Anya asked in her most acid voice.

"The Gypsies had the right idea. I mean, in their own way. When they cursed Angel, they pulled his soul from the firmament. But he was already a vampire. So they only had to do one thing. They must have been familiar with this grimoire, and they knew about the loss of the soul and the resurrection of it as well. It's kind of... connected. Everything's connected. That's what I've been learning all that time in England, about how nothing is ever really disconnected, even in death, from anything else. Even inanimate objects are connected to the rest of the world. It was the same principle that we used to reach through to Osiris when we brought you back. So death... undeath, and then spirit extermination... resurrection. I remembered that there were spells of spirit restoration in this old grimoire. And in that encyclopedia, there are references to curses, one of which is basically a curse of vampirism. You can make a vampire -- not exactly easy peasy, but close. It's transmogrification, plain and simple, only for once, someone has connected the dots to let us figure out how to transmogrify with... well, parting gifts."

"Pleased as punch as I am to be hearing that there's possibilities, I'm not sure I'm getting all this," Spike said casually.

She said tensely, "I think we could do it."

" _We_ meaning you and..."

"Me and me. If you'd trust me."

"No question about that. Question really is, do you trust yourself?"

"Whoa, whoa," Xander said, waving his hands. "You're saying you and Dawn figured out something that the book guys with watcher degrees couldn't? Are you sure?"

"Aren't you happy?" Willow asked earnestly. It was freaking her out that Dawn was the only one excited about the discovery. Maybe they never really would trust her again.

"I for one am a bit gobsmacked, but that's nothing new," Spike said. "Much as I want to say well done you, I'm not sure I see how this works."

"I hate to ask, but maybe we need..."

"No, we can check with Giles. I mean, I want to. I wouldn't do anything without him, I promise."

"Oh, crap," Dawn said from behind her.

Willow turned and looked at what Dawn was pointing to. "Oh, shit."

"What? _What_? You people have got to stop doing that!" Anya fumed.

She sat down hard. "I guess it was too good to be true."

Spike put his hammer down, and dropped the nails into his pocket. "Straight up, no chaser."

"We could do it. I thought we could do it without you becoming a vampire from being bitten by a vampire, and we can, but..." She sighed. "But you still have to die first. Someone has to kill you before I can put the vampire curse into effect." Her mouth tugged down at the corners and she could feel tears stinging in her eyes.

Xander's hand shot up in the air. "Volunteer, right here."

"Sod off," Spike said, though there was no force in it.

Buffy slapped him on the shoulder, hard, and Xander went flying forward.

"Children present!" Xander added.

"I'm not a child!" Dawn stamped her foot.

"No, it has to be supernatural. Something supernatural... which is just like the old fashioned way. Except that it's not a vampire, just... killing."

"Or you mean... oh god." Buffy's face was ashen. "Or you or me could kill him."

Willow grimaced. "I guess Spike had it right way back when. With magic there's always consequences."


	9. Read the Fucking Manual

Even if it's a lie  
Say it will be all right

 

"Look, it's not as if you haven't wanted to kill me before. Now's your chance. Strike while the iron's hot."

Buffy squinted hard at Spike as he said that. For the past hour he'd obsessively gone over myriad reasons why she or Willow should happily want to kill him, and the only thing it accomplished was to make her miserable \-- and thus making it hard to finish her French Slam breakfast. Bites of food kept sticking her throat. Craw, as her dad used to say.

"No." Buffy didn't even spare him a glance.

"You know, it doesn't matter that you keep saying that. All I have to do is go to work one day, happen to make a point of standing in front of a mirror or telling everyone I hang with the slayer or pick a fight with whatever demon's handy, and there you have it." He spread his hands wide. "Supernatural death."

Willow poked him with her finger. "And if I'm not there to referee, then you're screwed, because it's not like you get to linger around waiting for me to do the spell whenever I'm in the right mood. It has to be immediate, and I'm not ready, like I told you about five hundred times in the past couple hours."

"Giles will be here soon," Spike grumbled. "He'll tell you you're good to go. Besides, you've already read the sodding text fifty times over. What could go wrong?"

Willow snorted. "Obviously you've never heard the phrase 'read the fucking manual.' Stuff always goes wrong, there's always consequences, as you so sagely pointed out a long time ago."

"Doesn't matter anyway. Still not gonna kill you." Buffy stabbed her French toast.

"It's entirely unfair," Spike whined. "We've danced round and round this thing for years, and now we have a worthwhile opportunity for everyone to get their hate-on out of the way, but you won't take it. Even in the service of good."

"And still more no!" Buffy snapped.

"Again with the volunteering over here," Xander muttered, and both Willow and Buffy glared at him.

This reminded her too much of those door-slamming farces that her mom had always liked so much. Only right now, Buffy wished she was the one doing the slamming, and they were on the opposite side of the door. Why did Will have to go and figure out that whole spell thing, anyway? Spike would never drop it, she knew that. He was like the Terminator: He simply will not stop until he is dead. Just way too much could go wrong in a thing like this, and there really was no manual to fucking read, and... well, just too much could go wrong.

With a loud clatter, she tossed her utensils on the plate and turned to face Spike. "Look. Can we just drop it for right now? I'm sick of this discussion, and I'm sick of thinking about anyone I know dying, and mostly, it's not like there's a _big bleeding hurry."_ She glared pointedly at him. "If we hadn't stumbled on that information, we wouldn't even be talking about this."

Spike gave her those puppy eyes, the "but I'm dying" eyes that she had developed a very large Big-Gulp-sized vat of hatred for.

"When Giles gets here, then we can talk about alternatives. But right now... let's leave it alone."

Spike slouched down in the seat, the leather of his jacket making rude noises as it rubbed against the vinyl booth seatback. He heaved a giant sigh, which only made Buffy roll her eyes and turn away from him. He'd start the extreme-sport pouting soon. The problem with that, of course, was that Buffy thought his pouting was pretty sexy.

Everyone acted as if this was no big deal. It was all a joke to Xander, or a test of courage to Will. No one seemed to think about how it would make her or Dawn feel if it didn't work out, and anyway, she still wasn't convinced the bringing him back as a vampire with a soul was a good idea. The soul had driven Angel nearly insane for decades, he'd told her once a long time ago, and Spike already had the map of scars that showed how agonizing it had been for him to come back human, with soul, and cope with all the crimes he'd committed as a vampire. What would being undead again, but with the bonus-gift guilt, do to someone like him? He was one of those Big Emotions guys, and something like that could pretty much put him under, just as surely as a stake would.

"Let's get the check," Willow said, trying to be the group counselor again. "Maybe a good night's sleep will make everything seem sensible tomorrow. Plus, Giles!"

"I'm not hungry anymore, anyway." Buffy wadded up her napkin and tossed it on the plate, where it slowly soaked up the fake maple-flavor syrup.

Xander scowled. "Well, I'm getting mine to go. I'm not even half done yet."

Spike just muttered under his breath, and Buffy was pretty sure she heard the word "cunt" in there.

 

 

When she got home, Dawn was waiting for her, even though she should have long been in bed. Willow had decided to go back to the Magic Box and get all the information written down in some kind of useful fashion for Giles. Sort of like a term-paper outline.

"Are you guys gonna kill him?" she asked, like it was a perfectly normal question. Obviously she'd been stewing about it the whole time.

"No!" Buffy snapped, throwing her coat on the couch. "No killing of human beings, you know that."

"But I mean he's not really human, right? Because of the coming back wrong thing? So there could theoretically be justified killing."

"Yes, he's human. Maybe things aren't working right, but that doesn't mean he's not still a person. So, ixnay on the illkay."

Dawn hugged her arms tight around herself, and it made Buffy realize she was still so young in so many ways, still so full of emotions and fears and hopes. They hadn't beaten or scared it out of her yet, which in some ways was a teeny bit comforting. "Good," Dawn said, nodding her head as if to emphasize it to herself.

Buffy flopped down on the couch. "This is all so weird. And with these guys running around, and maybe the First being back... I don't know. Maybe Spike is supposed to get back to being a vamp, but it doesn't feel like right now's the time to be messing with killing our limited good-guy posse." She noticed that Dawn wasn't going anywhere. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be in bed? You've got your answer, now flee."

"I couldn't sleep, what with the worrying."

" _Don't_ worry. There is no need of worrying here. A worry-free zone has been created around Spike. I won't let anything happen to him that doesn't need to happen."

Dawn glared. "Oh, that's comforting. What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Hey! Swearing!"

"Oh, please."

"Brat."

"Takes one to know one."

"Dawn... cut it out. I'm tired and I need to go to bed, and then I need to wake up and figure out a plan to save the world again, not to mention there are bills to pay."

"Woe is you." She sighed dramatically, but relented. "I don't really want Spike to die or anything, but... do you think that maybe this is all tied together somehow, like you said? Because Willow had that vision thingie, and so she came home sooner, and now Spike's here and we found out we can maybe make him a vampire, and so it all seems like... like maybe..."

"Oh!" Okay, so sometimes she was slow on the upswing, but eventually Buffy could usually figure things out. This one had surprised her, though. "Oh, no, Dawnie, it's not like that." Sometimes it was still so hard to get a handle on what Dawn thought or felt, and she was so all over the board with her behavior that Buffy didn't always twig to what was at the core of her questions until way after their conversations. "I don't think it's a key thing, or like one of us has the end of the world inside us waiting to get out with the right incantation or portal, or whatever. I don't think Spike's like some sort of... cog that the big wheel of First Evildom moves on, or anything." She was quite proud of that analogy, but Dawn rolled her eyes, instantly deflating her sense of achievement.

She bounced her hand on the railing a couple times, half turned away, and said in a small voice, "Okay."

"Things are getting scary again, huh?" Buffy ached inside over the fact that there was nothing to be done about it, not yet anyway. That she could never really keep Dawn safe from harm, no matter how much she tried.

"Yeah. What else is new, though?"

"Word. Well, I'm gonna finish up a few things and then head to bed."

"Night."

Buffy watched Dawn go upstairs, looking a little sad. It would have been nice to give her a whole half a year without something terrible happening. But she supposed it was too much to ask here on the ol' Hellmouth. Maybe Giles would know what was going on, why the bringer guys were back, and what it meant that Willow knew how to mojo Spike back to being a vamp. It had to mean _something_. If she'd learned anything from being a slayer, it was that everything meant something, and everything was connected, even if the connections and meanings weren't obvious -- you just had to wait long enough or look hard enough, and then you'd find the answer. Of course, there was also the likelihood that you would really, really regret the discovery later on.

Tidying up the kitchen, Buffy put a few dishes away and threw some stuff in the hamper, pondering her reaction to the whole Spike "kill me" thing. In a lot of ways, yeah, it made sense to bring Spike back as a vamp. At least, from a Mr. Spock logic perspective. If the circumstances were controlled, maybe it would work. But the concept of it... in just a few days he'd turned everything upside down by reappearing, and then by confessing the soul-having and the slow-dying and all the rest of it. Buffy had enough trouble getting a handle on all this crap in such a short time, she couldn't add the notion of him dying and the small but terrible prospects of the resurrection failing to her already overburdened heart and mind.

The truth was, Buffy knew, she cared for him a lot more than she'd wanted to admit to anyone else. Seeing him again had brought back so many bad memories, but also a lot of good ones. Knowing what he'd done for her... well, that changed a lot of the situation, even though it was kind of overwhelming, and Buffy knew the others would think her feeling that way was wrong and bad and wrong. Or sick. She couldn't deny that Spike had always tried so hard, no matter how bad things got, no matter what she'd thrown at him. Even though he did it wrong, he meant well -- most of the time.

There had been a lot more room for him in her heart after she'd finally learned to accept the resurrection and allowed herself to want to live again. But by then Spike was gone, and Xander had yammered constantly about the attempt to rape her, like she was too dumb to know what had happened. No matter how hard Buffy had tried, she'd never really been able to get through to Xander that the situation, ugly as it was, had never been totally black and white. Buffy had accepted her own treatment of him, paid her own emotional price for knowing what she was capable of doing to someone else. Xander didn't really understand that; for him there was one side of the equation, and it was all Bad Spike's fault. He'd forgotten -- or maybe never fully understood -- that there'd been a Bad Buffy on the other side, too. And Bad Buffy had been pretty damn bad on a few occasions.

She and Spike had started their affair on the basis of friendship: Buffy had needed a friend who was far apart from the others to ease the hurt they had caused her. And truly, Spike had always been that, no matter what. Evil or good, he had a weirdly strong loyal streak. Now, Buffy thought, the feelings and the relationship had come full circle -- they were friends again after all the turmoil, tentative and strange with each other, but friends. And this time, maybe those other qualities that grew out of friendship would be better, would be... righter.

But if killing him went south, then she would never get the chance to see their friendship grow or change. It was about keeping things together, making sure that nothing was lost. Risk management, that's what they called it. Buffy just didn't want to take iffy chances, not with this. There were some things you shouldn't risk -- you wouldn't want to try to bring Angelus back, either, even if you thought you had him under control. Stuff like that simply didn't make sense.

Buffy turned off the downstairs lights and went up to her room, hoping Spike wasn't off doing something stupid to try to get himself killed. Maybe she didn't like to talk about feelings, but tomorrow she'd have to explain all this stuff to him on the off chance that he would put a stop to the death-requesting, or at least shut up till Giles got here. Too many things in motion now, too much to try to understand and control on her own, without adding Spike to the mix. That might be a good subcategory to add to her title of Buffy, Vampire Slayer: risk management services.

 

 

Spike put away the last of the bar glasses and undid the apron from around his waist, throwing it and the bar towels into the laundry bin that was tucked into the corner. With a last look round to ensure everything was tidied, emptied, or stacked away, he went to turn off the lights, all the while fishing for the keys in his pocket.

The fact that the place was empty and quiet and completely shut up was why it was so weird to see Dru standing there in a diaphanous white frock, a chattering spider monkey clambering all about her shoulders and head.

"Pretty Spike," she said dreamily, "look how low they've laid you. It hurts my heart." She put her right hand over her chest, and the monkey jumped down into the crook of her arm.

Okay, this was just... weird. If he wasn't mistaken, that was the monkey from the bizarre square-dancing dream he'd had a couple times. When he had been a vamp, Dru's strangeness had been charming; now it was rather menacing, and he could see why people were even more afraid of her than they'd ever been of him.

"So... uh... how'd you get in here, Princess? I could see you slipping in yourself all quiet-like, but with that creature on your shoulder, not so much." He really wished he had a cigarette. Or maybe some holy water. The last time they'd seen each other hadn't precisely been what you could call filled with warm and tender regard.

"What have they done to my boy?" Only it wasn't phrased as a question, really, since she spat the words out in anger. It was interesting that she put the blame on others, because when she'd scarpered back then, she'd been pretty disgusted over his feelings for the slayer. Now she seemed to be back on the Spike agonistes track. "Made him one of them again, and not even with a heart that beats beats beats and goes on forever. Half human, half dead." She cocked her head. "Working for the _man_."

That only made Spike laugh. "Well, you've certainly picked up the lingo, hanging about down there in L.A. If that's where you're still basing your operations." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Look, Dru, what do you want?" It suddenly occurred to him that maybe she would be the one to kill him and bring him back to her. Uh-oh. With no Willow about, she might successfully make him a vampire again but there'd be no spellish intervention to keep the soul. "You're not... you're not here to turn me again, are you?"

"Silly Daddy!" she shouted. "Not good enough for our little club, no you're not. Why should we want you if you don't want us?" Dru wagged a black-nailed talon at him. The monkey appeared to chastise him, too.

Backing up a few steps, Spike answered, "Good point. So, then, maybe you should go now."

She made no move to come toward him, so Spike took that as a good sign.

"We are all very cross with you, you know. Chasing off after bits and bobs that make you feel real again and all for the slayer. Chasing after them like a child, chasing after dandelion seeds hop hop floating in the air. Shiny shiny hopes and dreams and you dashed about the rocks like a shipwreck."

Well, you could say one thing for the barmy bint: she had a way with a simile. Lots of mixed ones, but still.

"If you're not here to turn me, then what are you here for?" His nervousness was reaching the red zone.

She just smiled that addle-brained smile, looked up to the heavens. In all the years they were together, he never really understood what it was she saw up there. If she saw anything at all. "I have a treat. Comes from the underneath." Her voice reminded him of some kind of carnival barker -- she made it sound all exciting by dragging the words out, flourishing her syllables. "Would you like to meet him? Just like you and me, only better. Devourer. Father. She doesn't want you, you know. You've been _soiled_."

"Ooo-kay. Sharp turns there, Luv; you ought to warn a fellow." It was unlikely he could find any crosses in this place, and of course there would be no stakes, but he figured he might -- might being the operative word, since she would be infinitely faster than him -- be able to break off a chair leg and get her. More likely, though, any attempt to heroically save himself would end in failure and an ignominious death.

Wait a minute. She'd said _the underneath_ and _devourer_. Buffy had heard similar phrases in her dreams, she'd told him -- "from beneath you it devours." This was beginning to smell a bit fishy.

"Uhh... Drusilla. Who sent you here, darling? And _what's_ with the bleeding monkey?"

"I shall be even crosser if you spurn me." She made a foot-stamping motion, but there was no sound. That did it.

"Spurn you? What are we, back in Merry Olde?" Spike relaxed and crossed his arms over his chest. This was definitely a hallucination or an apparition of some kind.

Dru glared at him and the monkey chattered. Really, this had grown far more annoying than it was spooky or threatening.

"You'll be sorry, my William. Bits and bobs." Then she appeared to just... vanish. Waking dream or hallucination, didn't matter. This soul-having thing was really not all it was cracked up to be. At this point, he was starting to believe he was loonier than Dru herself. He closed up the bar, heart hammering in his chest, wondering if this was another warning sign that he was closer than ever to real death. If strange dreams and visions were a barometer of how close he was to pushing up daisies.

And anyway, if he could hallucinate someone, why couldn't it at least be someone safe?

 

 

 

After Giles had finished telling them about the Watcher's Council being blown up and of his frightening encounter with one of the bringers, he sat back and scanned their eager faces for signs of a) impending sarcasm that for once he'd not been knocked on the head or b) awe-struck admiration at his Herculean strength in overcoming such a deadly foe. He wasn't in the mood for the former, not after an 11-hour voyage and the subsequent jaunt on the terrifying little prop plane that flew into Sunnydale airport.

But it didn't appear as if they would choose that direction. Instead, Willow looked more than a bit frightened, Xander looked confused, and both Dawn and Buffy repeatedly exchanged serious glances that told Giles they'd discussed these topics in depth already. Spike was the only one who seemed ready to hurl a few barbs his way, and Giles gave him his best preventive glare.

Spike was definitely more subdued since Giles had last seen him; he seemed resigned even further to all that had happened to him and the consequences. Giles wasn't certain, since he hadn't been here long enough to truly assess the situation, but he sensed that Buffy was depressed over Spike's condition, as well. Her distress was focused more in his direction than anywhere else.

Giles took a sip of his tea and asked, "So, tell me about this method to cure Spike's condition." They had picked him up at the airport, Willow stammering and hesitating about her discovery. She hadn't filled him in completely, but it had been obvious right from the start that this was something foremost in their minds.

Willow brightened. "Oh! Yeah. Well, do you want the Reader's Digest Condensed version, or do you want the full Monty?"

He grimaced. "Ahh... how about the version in between?"

Willow launched into her full explanation of what she'd found, peppered with many interjections from Xander and Dawn. As the tale unfolded, though, Giles noticed that both Buffy and Spike simply sat there, stone-faced, as though they weren't part of the conversation. Anya was conspicuously absent again; he really would have to work on fixing that situation if no one else was going to do anything about it. She was annoying, certainly, but her participation at a time like this could be helpful.

He found it oddly sustaining to be here in Buffy's living room again, to have these young people around, still so full of promise and energy despite all that had happened to them, plotting and figuring and sharing... All this time in England, as much as he'd enjoyed being at home, he'd been far lonelier than he'd realized. The truth was, this was his family -- even Xander and Spike -- and this was where he belonged more than any other place. He only half-listened to Willow, but heard enough.

When she was done, Giles sat forward, knowing she awaited his approval. "Well done, Willow. Very well done." He took a deep breath. "But... it's still a bit uncertain whether this is the right thing to do or not in this time and place. We have no idea... well, things are quite dramatically building up, don't you think? As you say, there's really no guiding text to go on here, just bits and pieces." He looked hopefully at all them, their eager, bright faces, and realized that of course they were expecting _him_ to come up with the answers.

"Because of the council getting blown up? Or the First?" Willow asked.

"Well, yes, both. If there's any margin for error... if Spike doesn't have his soul back and he's a vampire, he could be of great use to the First..." Now he felt bad for dashing their hopes.

Buffy shot out of her chair. "We don't know what the First wants. It's a big, stupid, waste-of-time bag of hot air, all 'I'm evil, look at me, blah blah.' When I met it before, it spent all its time trying to get Angel to kill himself, and you know what? That wasn't exactly hard work to get on Angel's Broody McBroodpants side and make him suicidal with guilt. Trust me on that."

Giles pursed his lips. "Er... all right. Nonetheless, things are fairly delicate, so perhaps we should at least take a few days, learn all that we can about this spell and the curse, and--"

"Hello, dying over here," Spike said, waving a hand in the watcher's direction, his exasperation with everyone rising. They were so obtuse, these blokes.

Giles peered over his glasses. "You don't exactly seem on the verge," he said dryly.

"Well, who knows? I could pop at any minute."

"Actually, Wes does know, maybe we should call him," Buffy offered, arms hugged tight around her chest. She was so painfully unhappy about all this; every time it was discussed she withdrew further and further. Spike couldn't say he fully understood it, either. But he was at least a bit grateful that Buffy cared enough she didn't want him to be offed like so much smelly rubbish.

"He could be very helpful in this spell," Giles said. "He has access to some books that might help us flesh it all out."

Xander shook his head. "Man, I'm still having trouble wrapping my mind around him being a cool guy now."

"Cooler than you'll ever be," Spike snapped, and was immediately knocked sideways by a cuff on his head from Buffy. She pointed a finger at both Spike and Xander.

"Now is not the time for this. The two of you, grow up."

Spike rubbed the side of his head. He should remind her sometime that he no longer had super strength and the hitting was definitely a greater source of pain than before -- and he didn't exactly enjoy it the way he used to.

Giles watched her walk around the room, his face gravely serious. Oh, Christ, he was working up to Something Big here. Spike leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. He figured he might as well get comfortable as they settled in for a long afternoon's argument.

"This has you more worried than I've seen you since... well, since Glory," Giles said. "What is it you're not telling us?"

She stopped pacing, glancing at Giles. At least that part of him hadn't changed, the way he noticed subtle things, gauged her feelings. "I've had these dreams for a while now. I kind of told you a little bit about it, but there's more going on than I said before. They're not just regular dreams. They're of uncalled slayers being killed off. I think they're slayers, because of things they've said to me, the way they are... and they talk directly to me. Now you're telling me the First is behind the council being blown up, and so I think all these things are connected. That this means these dreams are real. And we have to figure out a way to protect those girls and stop the First."

"Aye, there's the rub," Giles responded. "We know almost nothing about it, and what little there was... is all gone now. I didn't have time to recover anything beyond these files, which I compiled after our last encounter, so they may not be as up-to-date as we'd prefer. These are the last remaining pieces of the council's library, really." The way he said it, almost lost, hollow, made Buffy pull back a little, sit down on the floor and lean back against the wall. She forgot how hard this must be for him, even if he didn't have much more love lost for the council than she did. He'd lost all the people he grew up knowing, the only real friends he had besides the coven. And now he and Wes were among the few real watchers left in the world, wondering if they should carry on the legacy... well. It was just capital-U Ugly. She'd have to spend some time with him privately later, get the information he didn't want to let slip in front of the more panicky others. There was a lot left for them to plan and organize.

"I think I had a visit from our friend. Came to me as Drusilla. The other night, at Willie's."

"How do you know it was the First?" Giles asked.

"Well, I don't. It's just... I have these dreams. Have done since the soul and human thing. Very weird they are, too, and in one of them there was this spider monkey. Dru shows up in the bar out of nowhere, no sound, with a spider monkey wearing the exact same collar and dancing round on her shoulders, chattering away. Just like in my dream. She was her usual self, mind, but making slightly less sense than typical. And then she talked about something coming, a treat she was bringing -- a devourer. From the underneath. Sounded more than a bit like Buffy's 'from beneath you it devours' thing. And she vanished. So I thought initially it was another one of these strange waking dreams or hallucinations, but now I think it was your First Evil."

Buffy frowned. "Why didn't you tell me about this before?"

"I'm telling you _now_! Let's not bicker over when and where. Shouldn't we focus on the whole battling evil thing?"

"Spike's right, Buffy," Giles said softly. "Unfortunately." She scowled at him. Since when did Giles take Spike's side on anything?

But he was probably right. She was just cranky because she expected Spike to spill his guts all the time, looking to her for answers and everything. Somewhere along the line, she must have subconsciously decided that his role was Right Hand Guy, and that somehow they were supposed to be able to communicate without words and know everything about each other. Which was utterly retarded, of course, but it hadn't stopped her from thinking that way.

Xander raised his hand. "Am I the only one who's having a wiggins about not just the fact that the First is blowing up people and killing potential slayers, but trying to recruit Spike, as well?"

Willow raised her hand meekly. "Me, too." She looked at Spike. "Spike, you wouldn't, like... I mean, would you... if it offered to make you a vamp again... Since you want to get killed, and all."

"No! No," Spike said firmly. "I'm not aiming to play in that match again, thanks. I would like to, ideally, be of some help to the World's Best Slayer here. Besides, it's not like it can turn me, anyway. Or kill me if I refuse. It's not corporeal, isn't that what you said?"

"Uh, well," Dawn spoke up, "I don't want to be the pooper of the partay, but didn't you tell us Dru said it had a treat for you? So wouldn't that imply, like, something that could do the job for it? Another minion, maybe?"

"The bringers could do that, too," Willow said. "Kill you, I mean, and be supernatural. I think. If they're the ones killing girls in Buffy's dreams..."

"Girls born with the potential to be slayers have been assassinated," Giles said. "It's not simply a conceit of Buffy's prescient dreams. That was in fact one of the reasons I wasn't at the council building, even though a meeting had been convened. I was out trying to verify the facts of another reported death."

Buffy put her head in her hands. "Ohhh, God. Can't we just have a couple of months without some kind of apocalypse? And what I am supposed to do about these girls? It's down to us now, isn't it? And I guess I have to think about what that means for Faith, too -- if these guys are trying to ice all the potentials, then they're probably gunning for me and her, too." She paused. "Her and I?"

"You were correct the first time -- me and her," Giles said distractedly, like he was on grammar-watch autopilot. It had always amused her that you could get him to answer questions even though he wasn't really paying attention. He had two brains or something. "Regardless, I suppose we ought to investigate what this visit to Spike was all about. If it wasn't about recruiting you... Maybe that would give us more to go on, an understanding of the First's plans. Can you tell us everything she said?"

They spent the rest of the night discussing what they knew, poring over the small amount of paperwork they had collected on the First, and eating a lot of pizza. Xander and Spike at one point had a belching contest, which nearly drove Buffy to kill them both. She didn't know why, but this frazzled her worse than the normal apocalypses. The only other time she'd felt this pressured and upset was when they'd found out Glory was after Dawn.

It was more than a little bit depressing, which only added to the burden. Giles wanted to find a way to locate the potential slayers, but without the information at the council building, and minus about seven-eighths of the council alive and kicking, there wasn't a whole lot of hope for that. Willow promised to try to work up some kind of location spell for mass quantities of people, though Buffy could tell that she was nervous about performing it. Giles at least could support her, but they probably all worried in their own way about just how things were going to go once Willow got magicy again.

But during all the yammering and reading, discussion of Spike's being killed took a back seat, and she was pretty damn glad about that. The First had gone from annoyance and potential threat to definite threat and serious problem within a few days. When something like this escalated that fast, there was nothing to do but hunker down and get to work. But at least that provided a good alternative to talking about killing people she... well, she loved. Yeah, she did. Maybe not in a big romantic way, maybe not even the way she loved Angel, but a different kind of love. Something that came out of friendship and real affection. Something that transcended all the bad events between them.

"Buffy, what do you think?" Giles asked, dropping her right out of her Candyland.

"Uh... about what? Sorry, wasn't listening."

"I could kind of tell," Xander said. "Not the time for taking the old mental holiday."

She made a face at him.

"We were thinking that maybe we should tag-team each other," Willow explained, "so that the First can't try to pull what it pulled on Angel. Sort of operating as buddies, keep an eye on each other. The less alone time the better chance we have of not getting worked on."

"Oh, yeah, that's good." She considered that while watching Spike. He was actually falling asleep over on her couch, the dork. Why, she wondered, had the First made its ... well, first visit to him, of all people. Why not herself? Or Giles, if he represented the council now? What good would Spike be to the first unless he was a vampire again? "So, I'm wondering here why they seem to have targeted Spike? The first night I saw him again in Sunnydale, he was being attacked by one of those bringer guys. Then the First pays its big announcement visit to Spike, even though there are more logical people to visit, even if you're just going to go for the straight demonic assistance."

Giles peered out at Spike in the living room, then shrugged. He stage whispered, "He's obviously got something it wants."

Xander gave a mock shudder. "What it is I don't really want to find out."

"If he starts killing again..." Willow looked kind of queasy. Now they were all whispering.

"He _won't_." Buffy put an extra oomph in her voice, just so they would stop this train of thought, and also stop whispering because she didn't really care if Spike heard them or not. He should participate in the conversation about him, anyway.

Xander rubbed his face. "Buffy, I gotta go home. It's late, I'm tired, work tomorrow, yadda yadda. Who wants to be my night-time buddy? Please don't say Spike."

"Well, it makes the most sense. I mean, the rest of us are either living or staying here." Willow made her "too bad" face.

"Can I stay here, then? I'll sleep in the basement or something. C'mon, help a big coward out."

"I don't--"

The lights abruptly went out. Buffy's instincts kicked in and she threw her chair back from the table, charging for the weapons chest. But she barked her shin on the table and hit her shoulder on the doorway arch, and that didn't start things off too well. There was a crash of windows, whereupon Dawn screamed from her bedroom, then came flying down the stairs shrieking "Buffy!"

They came in from both upstairs and the main floor, giving Buffy and the gang little time to arm themselves. Spike was already embroiled in a struggle with one of the eyeless little creeps by the time she swung an axe at it, creasing the back of its head with the blade. It dropped in pain, providing just enough time for Giles to run it through with a sword. Xander attempted desperately to fend off one that had come down the stairs after Dawn, a huge, curved blade held above its head. She went over to rescue him, but that took time away from the others.

Furniture crashed, glass shattered, blood splattered everywhere. After a little while she had them down to two in the living room, but both fought on ferociously. Whatever they were here for, they wanted it bad. One of the remaining two swung that mace-like thing she'd encountered a few weeks ago, tearing all the newly replaced furniture to pieces. That just pissed Buffy off in the extreme. She was never going to get ahead if supernatural creepazoids insisted on destroying her chintzy home furnishings.

Giles ducked the mace when it arced over his head, and as the bringer twisted on the upswing, Buffy shoved her axe handle up, catching the chain. The mace-thing whipped around, crashing into the side of the bringer's head, felling him at last. That just left one, but even without any eyes -- still ooky, even after all these encounters -- it seemed to get the big picture and leapt through the shattered window, running for its life. For a second she thought about going after it, but there was too much damage control she needed to do.

Giles got up off the floor, touching the blood that ran down the side of his head from a good-sized gash.

"Dawn, are you all right?" Buffy asked. When her sister nodded, mute from fear, Buffy pointed at Giles. "Go get the first aid kit and help Giles. Is anyone else hurt?" Willow shook her head, gasping for breath, while Xander just shook, the sword falling from his hand. Xander was always there in a fight, but he was usually pretty shaken up afterwards.

"I'm sorry, Buffy, I should have been able to do a spell, block them, but I froze," Willow said, her voice trembling as bad as Xander's hands.

"No, it's okay. It's better that you didn't try to do something you weren't ready for, otherwise we might all end up as toads." Buffy picked up the weapons, helped Giles over to the couch, which listed sideways now. She blinked. Where was Spike? Buffy looked around the room and shouted, "Spike! Spike, where are you?" When there was no answer, they all stared at each other in frozen fear. Crap, that meant there had been another fight elsewhere.

There came a Dawn-shriek from the kitchen just then; they all raced to the back of the house. On the floor in front of Dawn was Spike, blood pooling out from under his back. His eyes were open, staring blankly at the ceiling. Dawn called his name again and again, and Buffy knelt down, touching the side of his neck. Behind the counter was a dead bringer. Spike had obviously managed to kill it; the big chef's knife stuck straight out of its forehead. Buffy felt for a pulse on Spike's throat. With his eyes staring emptily at the ceiling, she knew there would be no pulse.

"Giles, he's dead. Oh, my god." She felt hollow inside, as if somehow all her bones and muscles had been turned to dust and replaced by nothing but cold air. She couldn't breathe.

Behind her Xander said, not in his usual cutting voice, but with sadness and resignation, "I don't think that's exactly what he had in mind."


	10. Monsters and Angels

There's a peacefulness and a rage inside us all  
There is sugar, there is salt  
There is ice and there is fire, in every single heart

 

"When in danger, when in doubt, run in circles, scream and shout." Dawn leaned over to Xander and whispered it as quietly as she could, but Willow heard it anyway and fixed her with a pained glare. Should have known \-- of course someone as powerful as she was with the witchy-poo stuff would have super hearing or something.

"Hey, you're not the one with the sky falling on your head, here." Willow had an armful of bags with weird-looking roots in them, a couple of books, and bottles of powders that looked like they hadn't been opened since the days of the Arabian Nights. Or, maybe, nights of the Arabian Nights. Knights? Dawn couldn't remember any of that stuff, especially now when everything was completely wack and people were expecting her to think. "Chicken Little was right." Willow muttered something else as she tossed the stuff down on the couch, but Dawn didn't catch it.

It was more than a little creepy watching everyone run around Spike's body, which just lay there in the middle of the floor, like he was sleeping off a bender, only with some blood here and there as accent colors. Dawn tried very hard not to think of him as dead dead, just in an in-between state since everyone was sure they could bring him back, but it was getting harder by the minute. She'd believed once that they could somehow bring back their mom, too, with spells and books and incantations, but that hadn't happened, so it was hard to consider this incredibly different.

Buffy's face loomed into view right in front of her, which made Xander jump and squeak. Everyone was more than a little twitchy. "If you two are just going to sit here and be all peanut gallery with the snark and not do anything useful, I'm making you leave, okay? We're in a hurry, here. If you can't be a team player, you're no good to us."

"Giles! Giles!" Willow shouted. "I need the grimoire."

"Yes, yes, I'm coming," he murmured, distracted. Dawn got up and went to help him, thinking maybe that would fool Buffy into thinking she was being useful. Right now, she thought, more hinged on Giles's attention span than Willow's. He was the one who had to ride shotgun with her, keep her from freaking out and make sure her focus didn't waver. Earlier when Willow had panicked at having to do the resurrection, there had been a whole big "snap out of it!" scene with her and Buffy, minus, of course, the face-slapping. Everything was such a major motion picture in this house.

Buffy began the task of spreading powder in a circle around Spike's body, so Dawn jabbed at Xander with her foot to go help. He made a face at her, clearly not desiring to go near Spike's body, but did it anyway. He was freaking out in his own special way, and Dawn wondered if she was the only person who noticed it. Sometimes, she believed, it was hard for the others to get where she and Xander were coming from with their snark and their panic attacks and whatever, because neither of them had any special supernatural gifts. They weren't sure what their place was in everything, how to act, what to do. When you didn't think you had anything to bring to the table, you were a little nervous about sitting down at the table itself. If Buffy remembered a time like that in her own life, it was hard to say, and for that reason, Dawn never felt like bringing it up. Willow probably remembered being a nobody a little bit more, but that time had long since passed for her, as well.

However, right now, Dawn knew it wasn't about them and how they felt, it was about helping Spike, and hopefully helping themselves farther down the line, because Buffy was pretty sure that Spike was supposed to play some kind of major role in this whole First thing. Not that anyone necessarily agreed with that -- Giles was pretty sure that was merely the friendship talking -- yet Dawn couldn't help but wonder at the string of coinkydinks so far. If she'd learned anything from life on the Hellmouth, it was that there was rarely anything resembling real coincidence in the world.

Willow set the books down and opened each page to the markers she'd put in before. Giles came over and they sat down next to each other to compare notes. It seemed like everything was coming together, until Willow looked up and saw Buffy's twisted face.

"Buffy, I'm doing everything I can. Promise. Heart crossed, hoping to die." That clearly wouldn't help much of anything in the pain department, but Buffy nodded. She was made of pretty strong stuff, but when the cracks came, they came big, and it made Willow want to cry when she saw Buffy like this. Giles squeezed Willow's arm in that Gilesy way. It wasn't exactly a good time to tell either of them that she was on seriously unsure footing right now.

She took a deep breath at just the time everyone said, as if they were all operating off a teleprompter, "Deep breath!" Giles stared hard at her and nodded.

"You can do this. We've been through it. I have faith in you, and the coven has faith in you."

Willow looked up at Dawn. "They're hooked into the web cam now, right?" She already knew they were, could see the little red light, but it felt like she needed to confirm something, even if it was stupid. There was a lot that was comforting in the "all systems go" statement. Dawn nodded.

"Okay. Here goes." She began with the curse first, since Romany was still a struggle for her, and Giles was pretty sure it laid the groundwork for the resurrection spell, anyway. That at least was in Latin and more familiar, though no easier to say. After speaking the curse, she sprinkled some of the herbs over the circle of powder Buffy had made, then Giles ignited them both as Willow stepped inside the circle. At first it merely fizzled like a pilot light that was slow to ignite, then a low blue flame crept along the length of the circle.

"Ooo, pretty," Dawn said.

Willow threw out the last of the powders, a crushed pure white crystal that had cost a minor fortune even with Anya's discount, as she chanted the spell in Latin. The flame erupted toward the ceiling, unexpectedly changing into something resembling a crystalline curtain. Willow nearly dropped her crib sheet with all the steps for the resurrection. Though their voices were muffled, she heard Xander shout, "Holy crap!" and in a weird, watery-glassy way, it looked like they all jumped backward. It was hard to tell, though, as the curtain grew more opaque by the picosecond and she was losing contact with them already.

Well, this must be it, Willow thought. The books hadn't said anything about the fire mutating into a weird glassy curtain, but she had to run with it. They were on a path. If anything was wrong, the coven would relay instructions to Giles on what to do. Hopefully. Sometimes magic just took its own course, and there wasn't a whole heck of a lot you could do about it.

She leaned over Spike's body and made the symbols on his forehead and cheeks. Now the curtain was kind of moving, like the streaks were chaser lights on a Christmas tree or something. A low thrumming noise had begun, completely blocking her off from hearing anything in the rest of the room. Thank the goddess there wasn't time to panic, was all she could think.

A strange glow emanated from the symbols, as if there was ambient lighting underneath his skin. If Willow hadn't been so afraid of messing this up, she would stop to take notes because it was so interesting -- and she was pretty sure no one had ever done anything like this before. Hopefully this would make a good journal entry afterwards. The light stopped glowing, and then Spike opened his eyes. Hallelujah.

Only there wasn't a lot of life behind them; they looked like dead fish eyes, something empty and kind of... cruel, maybe. Willow felt for a pulse until she realized that duh, they'd been trying to turn him into a vampire.

Outside the curtain, the room was in a panic. Except for Giles, who tried to calm everyone in his best patriarch-voice. "Just because we can't see her doesn't mean it's gone pearshaped."

Buffy tried to reach inside, but her hand bounced off the shimmery wall. "What if there's, like, evil spirits in there? What if Spike just becomes a vampire without the soul part? We're totally screwed. Also, he could eat Willow if she doesn't stop him first." She frowned. "This doesn't seem like it was part of the plan."

"Well, insofar as we had a plan, it probably is," Giles responded. "There isn't much precedent for this." He glanced up at Dawn. "Anything from the coven?"

Dawn was frantically IMing the coven. "No. They just say to 'hang about and we shall see'."

"Then let's hang about and wait and see." Giles sat down again and scanned the ancient text once more, just to have something to do. "We mustn't panic until we know it's time to panic."

"That's very helpful, Ford Prefect, " Xander said sourly.

Buffy heaved a big, dramatic sigh. "He's right. We have to just wait." She peered at the curtain. "I wonder what's going on in there. I hope they're all right." She didn't want to tell them how much she feared for Willow's life if Spike came back but without the memory of what he was supposed to be. He'd tried before a bunch of times to kill Willow, and he was already kind of unpredictable. No telling what he could do in such a bizarre situation.

"Okay, okay, Spike?" Willow asked in a trembling voice, hunching over his head, snapping her fingers. "You're supposed to be undead again. Are you there?" _Ohmygodtheskyisfalling. It really, really is._ What if she brought him back only to be an undead vegetable? She sat back on her heels. Well, this was just great. Cut off from communication, dead-fish-eyed Spike on the floor, and no idea what to do next. She tapped his cheek lightly with her fingers, then slapped him with her whole hand. Lightly, though.

Abruptly Spike's hand shot up and he grabbed her by the throat. He blinked a couple times. "What the bloody fuck is this?!" he bellowed as he sat up, still choking her. She waved her arms maniacally.

Finally he seemed to reach some kind of focus and let go of her throat. Willow coughed just as frantically as she'd waved her arms.

"Seriously. What the fucking hell? Red. What's going on?"

"Are you are you a vamp again? You don't have a pulse."

He slapped at his body like he was looking for a pack of cigs. "Where are we? Oh, Christ on a biscuit, this is one of those absurd dreams of mine, isn't it?" He squinted at the curtain.

She coughed again. "No. No dream. I resurrected you. But you were supposed to be undead. And have a soul." Hacking a few more times, she said, "I really wish I had a grape sody about now. It would be comforting."

Shaking his head, Spike looked up at the top of the glass curtain, at Willow's hands, and then at his own. "Bloody hell." He felt his neck. "I don't feel alive. No heartbeat to speak of."

"You got killed. A few hours ago. By one of the bringer guys. We had to rush the spell and the curse."

"Oh." His face softened. "That was very sweet of you, ta." He appeared puzzled. "Huh. I guess that means I have a soul."

"Well, I don't think thankfulness is quite the litmus test you think it is."

"Don't know how else to--"

With a whooshing sound, the curtain seemed to lift up, and the little "room" was suddenly filled with a glowing light that spread out to reveal a figure. It was Tara. She was all glittery and silver and white, and it looked really nice on her. Willow's eyes went wide. Definitely had not been expecting this one.

"Tara? Baby?" Willow had no clue what this could mean, but she wasn't going to gripe about it. Well, unless it turned out to be the First in disguise and suddenly changed into a big gaping mouth that came after them with ten-foot fangs. Then she would gripe.

"You did a good job," Tara said. Her voice had that humming sound behind it, like it really was coming from another world, whatever world the curtain had come from. "I'm proud of you."

"Oh, baby. I can't believe it's you. Just to see you again" Willow began to choke, but this time not from actually being choked. Her throat hurt and her eyes stung from the emotion of it.

"I can't stay, though. There's a lot of work to be done." Her voice was so tender.

"Too right, Sherlock," Spike muttered, and then caught himself. "Sorry. Not the time for sarcasm."

Tara just smiled and held out her hand. There was a glowing orb in it, which sent out swirling showers of silvery sparks. "You did the right thing, Willow."

"I did? That's good. I was kind of worried that maybe I wasn't ready." The tears streamed down her cheeks; she knew her nose was running and she probably looked all blotchy and crappy, but Tara would never have cared about that. Still, it wasn't exactly how she'd dreamed of seeing Tara again at last.

"But you can't rest. They're all here. Devils and gods. Monsters and angels. You're the guardians, now."

"That's a bit cryptic, love," Spike commented. "Could you be more specific? I mean, if there's something you want us to do." He rubbed at his face.

"Remember to look at both sides of the coin." She tossed the orb up and caught it; the shower of sparks flew around Willow, lifting her hair.

Oh, that was just too strange, Spike thought. Not terrifically unlike his dream. Except Willow seemed a bit more benign and they weren't in a forest. Huh. So, these damn dreams really were telling him something and he'd better start paying attention.

"You've told me something like this before, haven't you? Just popping round my head like you own the place. Are you trying to tell me something, or her? The message is fuzzy, but so's the intended recipient."

Tara cocked her head sideways and smiled. "It's up to all of you."

"But what are we supposed to be looking for?" Willow asked. She seemed a wee bit frustrated, tears crisscrossing her cheeks. Spike knew exactly how she felt, and she hadn't been having cryptic informational dreams for the past few months. "I want to do the right thing, baby. I just don't know what it is."

"You do. You've always known, Willow."

He'd never had much patience for mystical crap. "Oh, that sounds suspiciously like Glinda telling Dorothy she could always go home. I hated that bloody scene. Thought it was a cruel thing to do to the lass, even when I was a vampire." Spike tried to get to his feet, but it was hard to do anything besides kneel. Like the gravity of the curtain was keeping him down or something.

That made Tara grin. "The devil was an angel once, too."

"Now you're toying with me." Spike crossed his arms over his chest in defiance.

"What? What?" Willow demanded. "Stop being cryptic with my girlfriend's ghost!"

Spike looked at her and pursed his lips. He'd forgot how emotional she could get. "This is very much like one of those weird dreams I've had. She's saying almost the same things she said in a dream before, in England. Didn't know what they meant then, and don't know what they mean now. Seems hugely impolite to taunt someone this way, you know."

"Oh my god. The world is gonna end as we know it, someone's trying to tell us how to keep it from not, you know, ending, and you're complaining about manners?"

Spike made a face at her. He pointed at Tara and said, "Big picture, Doll. Let's get back on track."

Willow rolled her eyes.

"Okay, look, what's this two sides of the coin thing? And this devils and angels. Are you telling me we need to bring the ponce in on this thing? Is that it?"

"You've known it all along, Spike," Tara said. "You keep saying, but no one listens. Good and bad in everyone." She smiled and reached out a hand, touching the side of Willow's face, and then she just evaporated.

" _Tell_ me that wasn't the First." Spike was very agitated now and he wanted out -- _now_.

"I don't think so. I mean, it wouldn't be trying to clue us in on how to defeat it, right?" Tears streamed down Willow's cheeks.

"You call that a clue?"

"You know what I mean." She wiped her nose on her sleeve.

"It takes the form of people we love. It knows stuff about us. There's no guarantee just because it came in the voluptuous form of your gal pal that it wasn't the First."

Willow sighed dramatically. "And no guarantee it _wasn't_ her. I think it was her. Doesn't my intuition count for something?"

Spike wagged an admonishing finger. "You did try to destroy the world."

"Oh, that again."

Just then the curtain disappeared with a whoosh and they were left looking at the open-mouthed faces of the rest of the gang. Giles adjusted his glasses with feverish intensity.

"What... what happened?" Dawn asked. She was staring at Spike as if he'd just well, come back from the dead, all right, he supposed he'd have to give that one to her. Without waiting for an answer, she sprang up and went to the computer and began furiously typing away.

Willow passed a hand over her face. "We... Spike came back. And then Tara did, for a little while. She left us cryptic messages. Giles, if I write it all down, do you think we can figure this out? I think it was some kind of, I don't know, code or something to help us figure out how to defeat the First."

"Or, just, you know, nonsensical ramblings from the Great Beyond." Spike rubbed his head. "Or the First itself."

Buffy was staring at him in a most peculiar way. Finally she said, "The important thing here is, are you a vamp again? And do you or do you not have a soul?" She scowled. "Am I the only person here who remembers how to stay on track?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Spike grumbled. He put his hand on his neck. "Don't seem to have a pulse. Kind of room temperature. Doesn't feel like it did the first time, though. I was actually trying to figure on the soul thing when her girlfriend--"

"There's an easier way to figure it out." Buffy pulled her hand back and punched him in the face. Since he wasn't exactly under a lot of control just yet -- he felt a bit as if he'd just strapped on the training wheels -- he vamped out and grabbed her, rearing back to sink his fangs in. Then... nothing. Nada. Didn't seem to need to bite or harm her, even though his nose hurt and he was really, really hungry. Maybe a bit more control than he'd realized. He took his hands away and sat back on his heels. He felt both a bit like his old self, and someone new at the same time. She smiled, pretty much making it impossible to be annoyed, so he shook his head, putting his human face back on. And that was also a bit peculiar, being able to change faces again after all this time.

"Guess that settles it," Xander said happily.

"Oh, you _would_ love that, wouldn't you?" Spike threw mental daggers at him.

Cocking her head, Buffy looked at him in such a pleased way that he couldn't quite get a handle on what he was supposed to feel. Everyone still stared at them. "Have I something hanging out my nose? Stuck to my teeth? I'd be best pleased if you could stop staring at us."

"It was kinda intense. You both disappeared, we couldn't see where you went or what was happening," Buffy said.

"Neither could we." Spike grinned at her, and she grinned back. It was weird, but he definitely felt like something was going on here with them. That if no one else were in the room, she'd be all over him. Girl did always like a spot of violence, got her randy, but this was something else. That monster in her man thing, again. She was just _pleased_ with him.

"It was kind of like a transporter beam," Xander said. "What was it like on the inside?"

"Kind of like a transporter beam," Willow responded. "Only with your ex-girlfriend all Obi-Wan's ghost inside." She looked at her hands, still shaking.

"Are you all right?" Giles asked her. He seemed to be the only person who'd taken note of the fact that she'd just spent time talking to her dead girlfriend's ghost and resurrecting a vampire replete with soul, not to mention creating a giant humming glowing glass curtain -- and that maybe she was just a little bit tired. Thank god for Giles, Willow thought. The rest of them were clueless.

"It was a little intense, like Buffy said. I think I need to go lie down for a while." And cry, too, she thought, but she wasn't going to tell anyone that. As she started to get up, Spike leapt to his feet and held his hand out, pulling her up.

"Well done you," he said quietly, the same look on his face as he'd had often back in England when they were at Giles's. Sort of... sweet and understanding, which always felt a little weird coming from him. "Whatever happens, I intend to do right by your Herculean efforts."

She pressed her lips together. "Just don't be doing anything... you know. Bad with the fangs, or something."

"No worries, m'dear." She wasn't going to tell him that when he used words like that, _then_ she worried.

Giles, and everyone else, stood up and gathered around. "Yeah, well done you," Xander said, and squeezed her shoulder.

"That was an amazing thing you did," Buffy said softly, then hugged her. Buffy had never been much for the huggage, she tended to save it up for special occasions, so Willow was doubly grateful to get one. "And I knew you could do it. I knew you had more than just power."

"Yeah," Willow laughed. "I guess maybe there's more to work with than I realized."

"The coven says way to go!" Dawn squealed. "Well, not that way, but that's what they mean."

"We're your biggest fans," Spike said, his face very serious. She figured he was, as they said over there, taking the piss, but she smiled anyway.

"Knock it off," she mock-snarled, pushing him away, but then started to wobble. It was like being way drunk, only without the headache she usually got from booze.

He slipped an arm around her shoulder and walked her upstairs, then asked if she needed anything -- some water, a stiff drink -- and when she lay back in the bed, shaking her head, he closed the door softly behind. You'd almost never have known that he was a vampire again, or that he'd just been dead.

That was one of the weirdest, most intense things she'd ever experienced, and it seemed extra weird that it had been with Spike. Not something any one of them would have ever planned on.

As Willow stared at the ceiling, she tried to remember everything that Tara had said so she could get it all down for Giles. It had to be Tara, no matter what doubts Spike might have had. There had been nothing menacing about her presence, only tenderness and caring, and Willow was certain she had been trying to help them. It wasn't her fault that they were too dense to get the clues she'd dropped. Willow rubbed her tired eyes, allowing her hand to fall at her side, fingers uncurling from the tight fist she'd held them in all this time. As she drifted off to sleep, she was certain she felt a hand brush over hers.

 

 

Buffy stood in the kitchen, spreading peanut butter on a piece of wimpy bread that kept pulling apart. Pretty soon she'd have peanut butter and bread balls. Spike stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Busy day, huh?" Buffy asked, scrunching up her face and tossing the bread in the garbage. She wanted to try the casual act so that he wouldn't know how shaken up this whole thing had left her. Maintain her aura of cool slayerness.

"Nuke the peanut butter for a sec or two, it'll soften up so you can spread it."

"Thank you, Heloise."

He smiled wickedly. "How long was I gone?" Spike asked, watching her while she stuck the jar in the microwave.

She didn't believe she was up to joking about death and great beyonds and resurrections and all that, not for at least a few more days. Spike always thought everything was a big joke, but there was a difference between the casual act and the ha-ha isn't it all so funny act.

"Since last night. This morning, I mean. It was after midnight."

"I remember being in a fight. Losing, of course."

"You got one of the bringers. Big butcher knife, right in the forehead." Buffy mimed a knife sticking out of her head, which made Spike smile that sharp, gleaming smile he was so good at.

"Well done me, then. Glad you saw fit to try the spell and all. Very kind of you."

"At the very least, it's the practical thing to do. There's a reason they keep coming after you, Spike. You seem to play some kind of role, me and Giles, too I don't know what, but there seems to be some kind of plan going on."

"Still. You could have left it. You'd no idea what could have come out of that. It doesn't go unappreciated."

"Are you... happy?" She turned to really look at him finally, and he seemed even more alive than he had as a human. Always expect the unexpected with Spike, she reminded herself.

"I'm happy about being able to help you now." He said it flatly, but his eyes sparkled so much, Buffy knew there was way more feeling behind it. Spike had the big emotions, flew from the heights to the depths in nanoseconds, but she'd learned one thing after all this time with him, and that was that he meant what he said. Spike wasn't given to platitudes or mincing around.

"Not exactly an answer, but it'll do." She finished making her PB&J and threw in one for him, too. "No blood in the house right now. I bet you must be hungry."

"More than you know." He took a big bite of sandwich and made a face. "This'll do for me. Crikey. Everything tastes different again."

"I'll send Dawn and Xander down to the butcher's if you want."

"Nah, don't trouble them. Time I should go, anyway. I reckon no one got any shut-eye last night?"

"Not a wink. Big doings."

"You've a very grateful vampire on your hands, Slayer."

She considered the possibilities for a moment, wondering if she should say what she wanted to. Buffy stepped toward him, twining her fingers through his and tucking her head under his chin. Slowly, very slowly, he put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her tighter. It was going to take a long time to get him to let go of the anxiety. "Spike. I just... I guess I'm glad you're a vamp again. I never thought I'd say that, but it just seems like it's better this way. Righter. More right?"

He chuckled. "Latter." Pushing her back, he cocked his head sideways, so familiar to her now, and he had that quizzical, loving face that often went along with it. "You seem... more than pleased I'm dead again. I'm trying to figure it out, but I can't, quite."

"Me, neither." She took his hand again, inspecting his fingers, noting the lack of pulse, the whiteness of the skin, and then enclosing it in both of hers. "Maybe it's just that this is how it's supposed to be. How we're supposed to be. This was what you were when we became friends."

"Bet you Angel would argue with all that."

Frowning, she turned away. "Don't start."

"Not trying to. Just saying... I'm not sure there's many who'd agree with you that somehow we belong like this."

"And by now don't you know how little I care about that?"

He shrugged his jacket on and opened the back door. "Reckon I do, Slayer. Reckon I do." Buffy didn't want him to go, but she knew everyone needed a little recovery time and Spike still had some processing to do \-- get back on the vampire bandwagon or something. "I'll get my things, then, and be back to set up shop in the basement. Your very own cellar dweller."

"Space'll be cleared by the time you get back." He grinned that funny grin again, and vanished into the morning twilight.

 

 

On her way back from the newly refurbished training room at the Magic Box, which itself was looking spiffier every day and you'd almost never guess that it had been the site of an apocalyptic battle, Buffy stopped at the Espresso Pump. Over the years she'd developed lots of good habits to become a better slayer, gotten rid of some bad ones that interfered with the job, but the one thing she'd never been able to get rid of, no matter how hard she tried, was her jones for caffeine, preferably in the form of espresso.

This was the only time Buffy got to herself now, anyway. In the past few days, Spike and Xander had both moved in to their house, and Giles had already been sleeping on the couch. Sometimes it felt... well, cozy wasn't the word she was looking for, but at least they were all friendly to a degree. But sometimes life got too crowded and she needed to retreat to other spaces. The only person, it seemed, who wasn't living there was Anya, but she was showing signs of worry, too, and Buffy wondered if she wouldn't want refuge at the Summers home next. Then there was the list of potential slayers they were trying to round up...

And still they didn't really have a plan. Giles and Willow still tried to puzzle out the messages Tara had left them, but weren't any more informed than before. Time moved too quickly in some respects, and slow as molasses in others. She stopped by the little park and leaned her elbows on the railing, watching as someone walked their squat little dog around. It was growing darker; soon she'd have to pick Spike up and patrol. These days, though, their work was over pretty quickly -- even the demons were getting nervous so the herd was thinning, and both humans and night creatures had left town in increasing numbers. Weirdly, though, they hadn't seen any sign of the bringers since that night Spike had been... well, killed was really the word. Just get used to saying it. Killed and mojoed back from the great beyond.

Buffy turned to go and was smack dab in front of a big wall of chest. "Angel!" She nearly dropped her drink.

"Good thing you were paying attention," he said dryly, though he made no effort to give her a hug or anything else. He'd been kind of standoffish, though, ever since the Spike revelations, though this was a little more distant than she'd have expected. She leaned back against the railing, trying to hold down her hammering pulse.

"Working on your surprise entrance again?" she asked, smiling up at him.

"Did it seem forced? I was trying to play it down."

"You always liked a flourish."

He leaned against the railing, hands in pockets, scanning the sky. "Town keeps changing."

"It does that. Right now everyone's leaving, so that sound you hear is probably the tumbleweeds blowing through."

"I heard."

"Via the demonic grapevine?"

"Something like that." He looked seriously at her. "I gotta tell you. We've got our own hands full with a personal apocalypse, but I'm pretty sure it's winnable. Yours... I'm not so sure." Angel made a tsking noise and gave that kind of peculiar grin to her that he usually reserved for people he didn't like much.

"Ooo... smells like team spirit." Buffy frowned. "Do you know something I don't? Or did Wes find something in his books?"

"No prophesies, no. But... this isn't a fight you can win. I know the First first-hand, and I know you, and this one... I'm kind of worried about you, Buff." He said it with way less gravity than she expected.

"Uh huh." _That_ was what it reminded her of. Angelus. He'd gone bad again. Had the First turned him? "So, you came all this way to undermine my confidence? Or were you just in the neighborhood?" Buffy tossed back the rest of her drink and set the cup on the ground. Normally littering would be a Bad Thing, but this was definitely not the time to care about such things. Buffy noticed that the dog walker had disappeared in the meantime.

"Just stating some facts. Not my intention to be hurtful, just honest. We're busy down in L.A. Maybe you should come with, since there at least you could do something."

"Right. So, basically, me and the most powerful witch around and a vampire with a soul and one of the most experienced watchers ever are pretty much useless in the face of Sunnydale's dire circumstances."

"Buffy, you have to realize what the situation is. It's not your strong suit to plan and strategize. I'm just calling it like I see it. Maybe you could do some good down there."

Okay. That did it. "When did you lose it?"

"Lose what?" The innocent act didn't suit him at all. The one good thing about Angelus was that he at least didn't screw around with pretense.

"The soul. You can scoot on back to be the terror of Hollywood and have fun with your own little apocalypse. Because if you don't I'm going to stake you right now."

He stepped back a bit, laughing that smirky, irritating laugh. "I heard that poetry boy is back among the undead. You've got your little pep squad complete again, is that right? So powerful." Angel gave a mock shiver.

"At least he's not going to flip out on us and go evil and make me stake him." Buffy reached into her pocket and Angel sneered as she did it.

"You can't beat me, Buffy. You never could, even when you killed me."

Now Buffy got it. Of course. Sometimes she really was slow.

"No, I never really could beat Angel. But you... I can ruin you. I'm _going_ to ruin you."

"Aw, you're such a buzzkill!" The First moved back a little more and made a grand gesture with its "hand." Things seemed to go dark around it and the air felt dead. "You've been a thorn in my side for too long, little girl. It's not enough to just get rid of you. You're going to _suffer_ before I'm finished with you."

"And your little dog, too," Buffy sneered. "Beat it, Miss Gulch. You don't scare me."

"I can smell the fear on you. It's like perfume to me." It paused, then flashed that evil Angel smile. "They'll betray you. It's the nature of everyone -- good and evil, but evil always wins."

"You don't say." Buffy turned to walk home, completely uninterested in whether it followed her. Definitely time to talk to the gang, and give the real Angel a call.

 

 

Willow was on the phone when Buffy arrived, waving her hand at her as if she had something important to say. Except that all she did was nod and say repeatedly, "Uh huh. Uh huh. Oh! You don't say." There was a long pause. "Evil, huh?" Willow mouthed "Wesley," at her. "Coma. Oh, that sounds bad. Yeah, you probably shouldn't have done that. Those jars are really fragile." More nodding, as if Wes could see her on his end of the phone. "Okay. Sure. As soon as I can." She put the phone down.

Every time Buffy had news, someone had to come up with something to outdo her. "Now what?" She took her jacket off, trying to relax a little. She felt liked she'd been in a fight.

"Apparently Angel's lost his soul again and has been running around a permanently dark L.A. because there's an apocalypse blotting the sun. Wes just broke Faith out of jail and now she's in a weird coma thing from bringing down Angel. And, um, I'm a little unclear if the sun's back or not. But they want me to restore his soul again. They've got him locked up."

They both sat down on the couch and said, "Whoa."

Buffy couldn't help but laugh. "You're not going to believe who I ran into today."

"Evil Angel?" Willow asked.

"The First, pretending. And it told me I was going to lose this battle. That I should go to L.A. to help, like it was trying to get me out of the way here. But... Maybe I have to go battle Angel again or help Faith or something. Damn. I'm kind of tired of killing him."

Spike wandered in from the kitchen. "No worries, love. I'm happy to do it for you."

Buffy rolled her eyes, then glanced at Willow. "It's always nice to know that in the face of world doom, I can count on my vampire boyfriends to act like children."

Willow said, "Help me get my stuff together. I gotta go restore a soul and maybe with it help good triumph over evil once again. Hopefully, at least, no head injuries this time." Buffy followed her up the stairs.

Her mom had always said, "It never rains but it pours," and she'd never really understood that phrase. She was starting to understand it all too well.

At the bottom of the stairs, Spike asked, "I'm your boyfriend?"


End file.
